Back in 'Nam with no plan
by Frapper
Summary: What happened at the end of season 4, on the episode "The sound of thunder", where Murdock got shot right when he had to fly the helicopter? How did they get out of there alive? This is my take on it. Includes physical damage, violence, scenes of torture of main characters and swearing. Some individual chapters are rated M for those reasons. No sex.
1. Chapter 1

**Back in 'Nam with no plan**

 **Disclaimer** : This is a non-profit piece intended for entertainment purposes only. I don't own the copyrights on the characters of the A-Team, I only play with them for fun.

 _ **AN – I am new to the A-Team fandom, and this is my first A-Team story. Last week, I started watching a few episodes online, randomly, then got a copy of the DVD's that arrived yesterday, and so far, I'm enjoying watching the series I loved as a kid, revived crush on Face included (don't we all have one, ah, girls?), and with a new perspective of the ambiguous relationship between Face and Murdock, because I never got that angle when I was 10 years old. I also read a handful of ff stories along the way, focusing on the Get-Face ones, my absolute favourites.**_

 _ **Yesterday, I watched a shameless loop-hole that is bothering me no end: the last episode of season 4, "The sound of thunder", where Murdock gets shot when he must fly the helicopter to get out of hostile territory in Vietnam. In the next shot, they are all back home in the US, and no one is injured, with no clues whatsoever on how they did it. Murdock is not even wearing a sling or showing signs of that injury, so there is a huge time gap in there with no explanations on how they managed to get out of there alive (maybe they all got abducted by aliens or travelled on a wormhole? Because the last time Murdock got shot in the shoulder in a similar way at the end of season 2, they made a big issue about it, and he looked in a very bad shape). So far, I am watching the episodes at random, and I started with the ones they get injured, which seem to happen at the end of each season, (of course, my favourite is the last one of season 5) ;)**_

 _ **I guess this same issue has bothered a lot of people before me, and there could be many stories about this same thing along the 1.7k stories available here, which I don't have time to read, so I'm sorry if I'm writing something similar to someone else, or if it is more of the same. At least, it will be new and original to me, so I'll give it a try. If you know any other stories about this issue, please let me know so I don't waste time rewriting something already done, and I can enjoy reading instead, always easier. And, for this story I will assume nobody else on the team but Murdock knows how to fly a helicopter, but, as I haven't watched the whole series yet, I don't know that for sure.**_

 _ **Oh, and btw, if somebody can tell me what Murdock says right after he gets shot, I would be very grateful, because I don't get it. Does he mention Texas at all? Whoever wrote the subtitles didn't understand him either, nor did the guys dubbing it to Spanish, because it says a completely different thing there. This is the kind of thing that bothers me a lot sometimes, listening to the same words over and over, a hundred times, and I still can't make up the words. Bummer.**_

 _ **One last thing: I am Spanish, based in the UK, so bear with me if my English doesn't sound very American. If some expressions I use are not quite right (especially for B.A, because I am dreading writing his lines of slang), please send me a PM or point bits out in reviews, so I can improve, also on grammar, style, typos… whatever you see wrong and worth mentioning. After all, fanfiction is a learning platform for aspiring writers, and the only way to learn is having someone shamelessly pointing out the flaws to you, and accepting the constructive criticism as it comes.**_

 _ **Thanks, guys. I hope you like this, and I hope I enjoy writing it as well, and the whole thing doesn't become a pain in the arse of a chore with an aggravating headache! (which I anticipate will be the case to create a realistic and convoluted rescue/evacuation plan fit for Hannibal after chapter 1).**_

 _ **And please, after reading, review to keep me happy and motivated to think on a plan. ;)**_

AAA

 **Chapter 1**

Murdock cried in pain when the bullet hit his left shoulder. Face turned to look at him, really panicking. Who would fly the helicopter if Murdock was out?

"You alright?"

"We may not make it to Texarkana, but I think we'll make it to the plane!" the crazy pilot said, whimpering in pain, downplaying the gravity of the situation.

 _This cannot be happening! Not now!_ Face thought while checking the damage with shaky fingers, urgently.

In the meantime, behind them, Tia held his dying father in her arms after he got shot in the back by Colonel Shu.

"Last time I saw you, you tried to kill me," General Fulbright said, struggling to talk. For a moment, he looked at his daughter with pride and then continued. "You are so pretty."

"Not like her old man," Hannibal said.

"Smith, you and your men are good soldiers. I'm glad we ended up on the same side," Fulbright said, his last words before he passed away.

At the cockpit, Murdock rambled something about being a bird with a busted wing, not making any attempts to fly the helicopter.

"Murdock, focus, please!" Face said while applying light pressure to Murdock's wound with his bare hand, enough to be of any help to stop the haemorrhage, but without interfering with the handling of the controls. "You have to get this bird up! Come on! I know you are hurting, pal, but you can do it! We can't stay here!"

"Yes, Sir! We are going up!"

Gritting his teeth, Murdock pulled the collective with an unsteady right hand and they got airborne, hovering over the enemy, but lingering there, still too close to the ground.

"Come on, fool! Whaddaya waiting for? Get us the hell outta here!" B.A cried, already in a panic state the moment they left the ground, due to his overwhelming fear of flying.

"Murdock got shot!" Face cried at the top of his lungs, in case they hadn't noticed at the back.

"What? This no time for jokes, you fool! He can't be no shot! He's flying this shitty tin box, dammit!"

"He's doing his very best here, so, hold on and shut your mouth!" Face barked without looking back, with his own fear too obvious in his voice.

"Tia, let's lay your father on the floor, by our feet," Hannibal said. "This bird may dance, and you can't hold onto him then; he's too heavy for you." After he helped her to do that, he ordered B.A to take the middle seat, between them, so he would not look down through the side doors, and tried to calm him down.

"It's not responding too well, Facey," Murdock said, with an apologetic tone. "Maybe the rudder or the rotors got damaged by those shots. You have to help me with this."

"What should I do?"

"Pull with me."

Face helped him to handle the stick, which was hard to move, with a sluggish response, but together, they managed to pull it further back, so the helicopter finally rose in the sky a safe distance. Although, it wasn't far enough, as the soldiers machine-gunned the chopper again, hitting more vital parts and the fuselage, but none of the crew.

"Shit," Murdock said when he lost control of the helicopter, which spun around like a wheel. "Help me with this again!"

Face tried his best to help his friend, pulling from the stick in the same direction Murdock intended to every time he jerked the stick while stumping on the pedals, until they managed to stabilize the helicopter. Then, Murdock tilted its nose and pushed the stick to go forward, as fast as they could, to get away from that area.

"Well done, muchachos! You got it!" Hannibal said, showing an enthusiasm he didn't really feel, also frightened like the rest of them, but trying to hide it.

"Where to, Colonel?" Murdock asked, still gritting his teeth.

"Hanoi would be nice, if we could get that far. We'll find a hospital there to patch you up, and then we can get a flight home." He looked at B.A by his side, who had fallen into the catatonic state with his fear of flying, a feeling aggravated by the news of an injured pilot. "The big guy here will not be a problem if he stays like this until we get him on that plane."

"Great," Face said, this time looking back while still applying pressure to Murdock's wound.

"Here, use this," Hannibal said, handing Face a bandana, which he took with a blood-soaked hand. "How bad is it?" he asked then, lowering his voice a bit, with his blue eyes locked in Face's.

"It's OK. In-and-out, just a through-hole on the shoulder. He'll be alright," he said in a casual tone, but his eyes said differently. _If he doesn't bleed to death first, and if he manages to land this bird safely_ , those freaked-out blue peepers seemed to say.

"Lieutenant, you better get familiar with those controls," Hannibal said with his serious C.O tone.

Face swallowed hard, nodding, freaking even more, and turned his head back to the front, applying the bandana on Murdock's wound. The cloth got soaked in blood immediately.

"How are you doing, champ?"

"This shitty stick is so sluggish…" Murdock grumbled, shaking it, gasping softly then, resenting the sudden movement of his upper body, which hurt his injured shoulder. He tried to relax then, slouching against his pilot seat.

"I suppose you could give me a crash course on this bird? Just in case, ah?"

" _Crash course_ is not the most appropriate choice of words here, is it, Facey?"

"No, you are right, it's not," Face said, gulping.

"You don't need a _crash_ course. What you need is a _flying_ and _landing_ course, my child," Murdock carried on in a patronizing tone, looking increasingly pale and tired with the effort of flying and speaking while losing so much blood, but he could not control his usual verbal incontinence, even under the grim circumstances.

"Yes, of course. I am perfectly capable of crashing this thing without any further instructions from you. You are absolutely right on that, spot-on. So, what about the flying?"

"It's easy-peasy. For flying, you move the joystick like this: back to go up, forward to go down, and also to go forward, why not, and then left and right, as you please… Easy as pie. Well, at least, in a bird which has not been shot on the wing, like me. And then, of course, you have to use the anti-torque pedals, but luckily for you, this cyclic stick is combined with the collector, so that's one less thing to worry about, but the throttle, that's a funny one, because…"

"I see," Face interrupted, looking at his friend as if he talked in Aramaic. "And for landing?"

"For landing, you have to —."

Murdock didn't finish the sentence because right then something snapped in the transmission to the rudder and he lost control of the aircraft again. The helicopter made a sudden turn, spinning fast, and Face lost his balance, pressing hard on Murdock's wound, leaning heavily on him with that hand. Murdock yelled in pain and went limp, releasing the grip on the stick, making matters worse.

"Holy shit! Sorry, pal. Come on, wake up. Wake up!" Face cried, slapping his friend gently, while the helicopter whirled crazy, but Murdock had fainted. "Shit, shit, shit!" he muttered then, grabbing the stick to stabilize the chopper, frantic, but Face could not control it. Under normal circumstances, he would still have struggled to keep a helicopter flying straight, but that bird was now jumping and twisting in the air in any random direction, like a wild bull at the rodeo, and it was hopeless. Murdock had passed out, they were going down, and the ground was getting too close, too fast.

"Face! Hold it still!" Hannibal cried at the back, pressing against the sides with his arms spread, while Tia held onto her seat for dear life. B.A was stiff in his seat, still catatonic and paralyzed with the fear, and as the helicopter spun out of control, his heavy frame leaned on the colonel, who feared he would be thrown out of the crew compartment at any moment.

"I'm fucking trying here, Hannibal!" Face shouted while fighting with the stick.

After a few more rotations at sickening speed, and Face's desperate attempts to avoid the trees, the chopper crashed hard on a small clearing. The landing skids broke loose on impact, the same as the tail boom, smashed in pieces, and the still spinning rotor blades dug on the soft soil. They got shattered, with fragments flying away in all directions before the wreck of the fuselage came to a standstill, tilted to a side.

AAA

Hannibal got up from the soft grass, where he had crash-landed and rolled when he lost the battle to stay inside. A gash on his forehead was bleeding over his eyes, and he wiped the annoying blood that impaired his vision off with his sleeve, while calling for his men. He got no answer, so he approached the wreckage as fast as he could, staggering. B.A's now flaccid body, no longer catatonic, was hanging half way out, with his head and arms dangling down. He was breathing, so Hannibal simply pulled him out and dragged him along the grass to a safe distance without further checking on him. He returned to the helicopter's side and looked for Tia, but she wasn't there. He spotted her lying on the ground, also looking injured but moving already, trying to get up. Ignoring the lifeless body of Fulbright, miraculously still lying inside, he tried to open the door to the smashed cockpit, but it was jammed by the twisted metal. He gave it a few good shakes, and in the end, he managed to yank it open.

"Shit," he cursed under his breath when he saw the state of the two men in there, all covered in pieces of glass from the shattered canopy.

Face lay on top of the controls in an awkward position, bent forwards. Hannibal kept the hope when he found a beating pulse on his neck. He didn't know the extent of his injuries, or if he had damaged his spine, but with the fuel leaking out of the tanks he feared the wreck could explode at any time, so he grabbed him to get him out, but he couldn't. He cursed again when he realized the reason for that was the piece of metal impaling his abdomen, pinning him over the controls. By then, Tia had stumbled to Hannibal's side, trying to help.

"Can you pull that out while I hold him up? We have to hurry, I think this wreck will blow up soon."

Tia held onto the broken control shaft, pulling down while Hannibal lifted Face up, who didn't even flinch when the bar slid out of his abdomen. Hannibal cursed again when he saw the long blood stain coating the metal, making obvious the wound was quite deep. Ignoring the pain in his own ribs and side, he carried the unconscious body of his lieutenant, noticing how his left arm dangled awkwardly, probably broken, and set him down gently, close to B.A. Then, he returned to rescue his pilot.

Murdock was also out with a large blood stain over his shoulder, extending to the back and over the seat, and had numerous, small bleeding lacerations where the shattered glass had cut his pale and clammy skin, but he couldn't see any other gruesome injuries similar to Face's. He pulled his pilot out of the cockpit and then welcomed Tia's help to carry him with the others, as he was quickly running out of strength with all that effort. The moment they got there, the helicopter wreck exploded in a ball of flames. Hannibal dropped to the ground, instinctively trying to protect the bodies of the other injured men with his, but none of the flying metal fragments hit them.

When Hannibal and Tia sat up again, she looked at the flaming bonfire, panicking.

"My father!"

"Don't," Hannibal said, holding her arm as she tried to stand up. "You know he was dead already. There is nothing you can do for him. Let him burn, because we don't have time to bury him." _And of course, I can't carry him when I have to carry men who are still alive_ , he thought in dismay.

"What are we going to do now?"

"Give me a minute here," he said, lying flat on the ground when the tree tops spun around him.

He quickly evaluated the situation: he had two badly injured men to take care of; one unresponsive, but hopefully operational; Madam Kung Fu, as his lieutenant so kindly referred to Tia before; and judging for the pain he felt on his ribs and on his head, and the stubborn blood that ran over his eyes, he wasn't doing so well himself. Despite the initial mechanical failure, they had managed to fly away a few miles from the enemy, which wasn't good enough, and that fire and that column of black smoke would give their position away easily.

The horrible truth was: they were back in 'Nam, in hostile territory, without backup, without weapons —as they had all burned with the helicopter—, and most importantly, without a back-up plan. And he always had to have a plan. He couldn't live without one.

"Shit!" he cursed one more time, wiping the blood off his eyes again. "Damn it!"

AAAAA


	2. Chapter 2

_**A.N – my most sincere apologies to the first few readers who saw a botched copy/paste of my first chapter, which included the brief plot bunny/outline for this story (less than 250 words, but most of the story was condensed in those few lines), and a short fragment of a future chapter. When I realized of that silly mistake after the first hunt for typos in ff, my "WTF!" must have been heard in Australia, hahahaha. But, according to the stats, I had 5 viewers already, even if ff said "it could take hours to have the story online". (well, they hurried up this time!)**_

 _ **I am very sorry if that spoiled the story for you guys, as now you have a rough idea of what's going to happen, but, if you are not writers, it also shows how a very basic skeleton of an outline works, and how it can transform into a full story. Easy! Ha.**_

 _ **Thank you very much for the kind reviews and very helpful PM's and feedback, much appreciated. I hope I can keep your interest over the next few chapters.**_

 _ **Cheers.**_

 **Chapter 2**

"Tia, are you all right? Are you hurt?" Hannibal said, sitting up when the sudden vertigo eased up a bit.

"I think I'm fine. Bruised and sore, but nothing like them," she said, nodding towards the three unconscious men. "Or you. Let me help you with that."

She took off her very long and narrow, silky headband, and used it to wrap it tightly around Hannibal's head, over the bleeding gash, to stop the haemorrhage.

"I think it was a piece of the rotor blade which made this cut. It whizzed past by me a little bit too close for comfort. Not bad, considering it could have chopped my whole head off."

"Lucky you."

"Yes. Lucky me," he said, sighing. "Thanks, Tia. At least I can see better now, and I'm sure I look gorgeous with it, just like you did," he said, showing his pearly whites, trying to lighten up the sombre mood. He desperately needed to fall back in humour to keep going.

With a similar self-comforting smile on her face, she stood up and approached the others while the colonel checked his own bruised side, deciding his ribs were not broken. At least he tried to fool himself with that positive thought, probably wishful thinking.

Tia stared at Face for a while, admiring his handsome features. He still looked stunning despite the small cuts and bruises, and how pale his skin was now. Suddenly, she glanced back at Hannibal, looking worried.

"This man is not breathing!"

"What?"

On hearing that, Hannibal's heart skipped a beat, and then continued racing frantically. He forgot about his ribs and leapt on his feet as fast as he could, rushing up to kneel by Face. He could still feel the feeble pulse on his carotid artery, but she was right: his lieutenant didn't seem to be breathing, not even trying to. He unbuttoned the khaki shirt to check the extent of the injuries, and he found just what he had feared: Face had a dark bruise right below the sternum, where he had hit the controls hard; an ominous mark that heralded a serious blunt force trauma. Besides, below that bruise, he had the penetrating, deep wound lower down in his abdomen, made by that broken shaft, which at least wasn't leaking so much precious blood as Murdock's.

 _Dammit, Face, you have to get breathing again, because I can't lose you! Come on!_

He tilted Face's head back, hoping his neck was not damaged, pinched his nose, and resorted to the only thing that could get his diaphragm working again after that hard blow to the solar plexus: mouth-to-mouth resuscitation.

AAA

Face could hear distant, undistinctive voices, but he had no curiosity whatsoever to find out who they were, or what they were talking about, content as he was in the dark, quiet zone. He liked that zone. It felt like floating in a warm, fluffy cloud, soft and cozy. He had been there many times before, and he didn't want to wake up. The dark cloud was safe. And painless. Always painless. Previously, every time he left that alluring, comfy darkness, he had felt some degree of pain. He didn't know exactly why yet, but this time, he knew the pain would be bad. Real bad. Better stay in the dark zone for longer... Much longer… For as long as he could.

However, despite his unmindful determination to stay in the enticing dark zone, when he felt the brush of lips pressing against his, he decided that maybe he could try the waking up trick, like a handsome prince in a fairy tale; his dandy style, bang on. He didn't care about the voices before, but now he was curious to find out which gorgeous babe was hovering over him, kissing and pinching his nose at the same time. So kinky! Would that be Madam Kung Fu?

With anticipation, he waited for the intrusion of a wet and delicious tongue, but that never happened. Instead, what he felt was a rush of warm air forced inside his lungs, which left a lingering taste of Cuban cigars on his throat. Then, he knew something was wrong. Very wrong. That could not be a gorgeous babe with a bizarre way of smooching!

With the next rush of already-used, second-hand air filling up his lungs, he had a vague idea of where that taste of tobacco could come from.

He opened his eyes, not completely shocked to see Hannibal leaning on him, but puzzled by his unusual and colourful choice of a headband, which hung bizarrely from his temple, hippy style. Then, everything hit him at once, making him regret one more time leaving the quiet, dark zone: firstly, the excruciating pain he felt in his abdomen, his chest, his arm, and on most of his body, due to the extreme tension and contraction on all the major muscle groups at the time of the crash, when he forgot to relax, ignoring the first rule of impact survival; and secondly, the horrific memory of the crash itself, the impotence and the fear he felt just before they hit the ground, the later still so present, so powerful. He coughed, resenting his broken ribs, and Hannibal pulled back quickly. Face gaped like a fish out of water, and then he panicked even more, because no matter how hard he tried, he could not get any air back in.

"Calm down kid, or you won't be able to breathe," Hannibal said, stroking Face's blonde hair lightly and reassuringly, relieved to see him conscious, back in the land of the living. "Calm down and let your diaphragm work with your lungs."

Face stared at him then with an expression that would hunt the colonel for the rest of his life: the ultimate, pure look of terror. No matter how hard he tried, or how much he struggled, it was obvious Face could not get any air into his lungs.

"Please, don't get any funny ideas about this, but I have to carry on."

Hannibal leaned on Face one more time, blowing more air into his lungs, forcing it in. He did that several times, at short intervals, until Face gasped and took a large intake of air all by himself, filling up his lungs with fresh air when his diaphragm re-booted. After that, the panting, the whimpering, and the agonizing cries of pain started, so upsetting to witness Hannibal almost wished Face was unconscious again.

"Calm down, please. I know you are hurting, and you are struggling to cope with the whole situation, but don't make matters worse: take slow breaths, but not so deep, and your ribs won't hurt so much."

Face seemed to be listening to his commanding voice, because he started to calm down a bit, not gasping for air so much, slowing down his respiratory rate. He kept his eyes firmly shut to help him ride the waves of pain, with a grimace distorting his handsome face, still whimpering softly like a lost puppy, but he was starting to cope with it. After all, he had a lot of experience in pain management.

"Murdock?" he whispered after a while, in a nearly inaudible voice, opening his eyes again briefly to look at the colonel.

"I don't know yet. I still have to check on him. Just keep breathing, kid. I'll be back with you in a moment."

He sent a _"keep an eye on him"_ nod to Tia, and crawled on his knees the short distance that separated him from the loony pilot. B.A was lying nearby too, on his back, and Hannibal could see clearly that he was breathing, as his powerful, muscular chest rose rhythmically under that red, tight top, with every breath he took. As his sergeant wasn't bleeding and he didn't show any external injuries, he left him for last, hoping he would be absolutely fine, and able to help him with the other two.

The gunshot wound on Murdock's left shoulder was still bleeding. Hannibal removed the pilot's jacket and his blood-soaked T-shirt to check it. As Face had pointed out before, the bullet was out, so he would not need to worry about it, nor make a bigger mess while searching for it. That bullet had not touched the lungs, but it could have nicked a large blood vessel in the shoulder muscles, because that wound was bleeding way too much for a clean shot in that area. He doubted that applying external pressure to the shoulder would be good enough to stop the haemorrhage in time, before the blood lose would be critical.

Cursing again, he approached the burning wreckage, looking for a suitable tool to perform the gruesome, but necessary deed, unwilling to get close to General Fulbright's charred remains. But, he had to put such squeamishness to a side and hurry up, because it looked like Murdock was waking up already.

AAA

Murdock couldn't remember any doctor drugging him up to shut his yapping mouth. Not this time. But, for some mysterious reason, he felt too sleepy, too tired, and too unwilling to wake up. And his shoulder hurt. Maybe Hannibal injected him with the novacaine by mistake? Nah, the colonel wasn't such a klutz; he would never do that. Who was steering the chopper then, if he was having his beauty sleep? Oh, yes, Facey. He was in charge now, after that crash-landing course he gave him. But he couldn't hear the noise of the rotor blades... Crash? Was there a crash? Really? Well, if it was, it didn't matter. He was fine in the dark zone. Who cared? If only he could have a mug of hot chocolate and cookies...

He heard the colonel using the F word, and he stirred, willing to tell him off. But he could not wake up. Not yet. Drat, the colonel could use the F word as much as he wanted. He was a grow-up man who didn't need a momma like that big, rude, black baby with a funny haircut. Ha. What about that cocoa drink? Room service, please!

AAA

Instead of his chocolate drink, what Murdock got was a red-hot, metallic rod digging deep into his gunshot wound. Hannibal had found a suitable metal bar burning on the wreckage, and he had managed to yank it out from the structure without burning his palms by ruining his black leather gloves to hold the hot end. He used the rod to burn the bleeding tissue in Murdock's wound, ashamed of branding him like cattle, because that would leave a permanent, ugly scar on the pilot's shoulder. But it had to be done. He hated the sizzling and the smell of burnt flesh, because he already had enough of that nauseating smell at the wreckage. And even more than all that, he hated Murdock's ear-piercing screams of pure agony when he suddenly woke up with the pain. His arms flailed, with his bony hands trashing about and flapping crazy, trying to stop him, but Hannibal kept pressing the rod against the flesh, ignoring the blows he received, until B.A kneeled by their side and held the loony pilot still, pinning his forearms down.

"Sergeant, I'm so glad you are back with us! Are you all right?"

"Hold still, you fool! Goddammit, let'im fix you up!" B.A cried when Murdock's right hand slipped out of his strong grip and slapped his face, right before he passed out again. "What's going on? How bad is it? He don't look that good," he said, releasing his grip, upset to see his friend hurting so much.

"That's a through-hole, clean shot, but it would not stop bleeding. It should be fine now, if it doesn't get infected," Hannibal said, pulling the rod to have a look, satisfied with the result. "That would do for now."

Hannibal left the rod on a side, handy in case he would need it on Face's wound, and he stood up.

"Any injuries to report, Sergeant?"

"Don't think so. I'm fine."

"Excellent, because I really need your help with these two."

"How's Face? He looks worse than the fool."

"He's been better."

"How bad?"

"Let's say… not looking great." Hannibal didn't want to say it clearly, because Face was within ear distance, already too stressed as it was. B.A seemed to understand, because he stopped asking about him.

"What's with the band?" B.A said, pointing at the blood-stained headband. "Are you hurt?"

"Don't you like it? Latest fashion, courtesy of Tia," he said, showing his cheeky smile again. "I think it suits me."

"You're nuts, Hannibal. Maybe that blow to your hard skull knocked all sense outta ya!"

"Or maybe Murdock's craze is catching."

"Man, how can you make jokes while we are stranded in this shit? We're back in fucking 'Nam!"

"I know. But humour me here, Sergeant, or I'll lose it. Please."

B.A grunted, unable to see any funny side to the perilous situation, but nodded nonetheless, placing his hand on the colonel's shoulder. Despite his apparent strength, the older man looked somehow fragile then, as if he could break down and cry like a baby in a corner, and he couldn't allow that to happen.

"You can count on me, Colonel."

"Thank you."

With B.A's help, Hannibal re-dressed the pilot quickly while he was out. Then, he returned to Face's side, followed by B.A.

"How's he doing?" Hannibal asked.

"He's hurting," Tia said, now holding Face's right hand lovingly.

"Yeah, we know that. What about the breathing?"

"Better. He's talking now."

"What's up, Face?" B.A said, still shocked by his state.

"Get off me. Whatever you two did to Murdock, I don't want it," he said softly, opening his eyes, blinking to focus on them. "Leave me alone."

"I'm afraid that's not possible, Lieutenant. I still have to check that wound and set your broken bones," Hannibal said.

"No shit. Back off."

"It will hurt more later on if I don't do it now. You know that," Hannibal said, pleased to see the kid so feisty. Face didn't object anymore, so he took it as consent. He gently touched his left arm, lifting it to check the damage, and Face yelled in agony.

"Leave it!"

"Don't be such a wuss. B.A, find something to splint this, please." It looked like the radius and the ulna had both snapped in the middle, and they were displaced.

"For crying out loud, leave it as it is!" Face cried. He was sweating now, and some colour had returned to his cheeks, if only due to the stress and the pain.

"Give me a hand here, Tia. Hold the upper arm straight. That's it. Now, Face, hold on. This is going to hurt."

"It fucking hurts already!" he complained, wriggling.

B.A returned with two suitable pieces of wood, and he pinned Face down by the shoulders.

"Stand still, you fool! The colonel's set more broken bones than a field doctor! More than he'd liked to. Let'im work his magic on ya."

"Thanks, B.A. Now, deep breath, Face."

"You are killing me!"

"No, I'm fixing you as best I can. Deep breath, please."

"I can't take a deep breath, you know that!"

"My fault. Don't, then."

Without further words, he suddenly pulled from the wrist hard and fast to align the long bones in his arm. Face's cry must have been heard miles away in the jungle, the same as Murdock's before. Hannibal hated hurting his men so much, but it was for the best. Face stood still, panting hard with his eyes tightly closed, and kept whimpering while he applied the splint.

"Tape? Rope?" Hannibal said, looking at B.A.

B.A shrugged his shoulders, looking around, but he could not see anything they could use.

"Hold this, Tia. I think Face also needs to feel pretty," he said, taking the long headband off his head. "Is it still bleeding?"

"No, it has stopped," Tia said, checking his forehead.

"You did a good job then."

"Great. I love sharing fashionable clothing items caked in blood..." Face muttered while Hannibal wrapped the long cloth around the splint, finally fading away with the pain, until he passed out.

"He's out," B.A said, releasing his shoulders.

"Probably for the best, because I haven't checked that wound in his abdomen yet."

He did that then, but he didn't know where to start. It wasn't bleeding much, but he had no idea how to check it, how far the bar had gone, and what it may have pierced.

"Fuck knows the damage that bar had done in there," Hannibal said, buttoning up the shirt again, as he didn't have any bandages or dressings to apply on it. "Let's hope for the best, that it hasn't touched anything too important."

"And now what? Have you got a plan, Hannibal?"

"Not yet, other than " _let's get the hell out of here."_ But first, let's have a quick look around, see if we can find any weapons or anything useful in the wreckage."

"I'll help you," Tia said, letting go of Face's now floppy hand.

"No, Tia. Don't come near the helicopter. You don't want to see your father like that."

A lonely tear ran down her face then, and she nodded.

"I'll look only around the site, then. Maybe something useful fell off before the crash."

"Yes, thank you."

While they looked in the smouldering wreck, ignoring the smell and the sight of a charred body, B.A verbalized the question already in Hannibal's head, pointing at the black mass behind them.

"Do you feel bad for 'im damn fool?"

"Maybe I should, but I don't. Not really. That man wanted to catch us, to see us dead, and I can't shake this nagging feeling that he is the one we should blame for being here. We would not be stranded in 'Nam if it wasn't for him, if he had not lied to us. I only feel sorry for the girl."

"Yeah, me too."

"Come on, let's get moving. We have to get away from this wreck as soon as possible."

AAAAA


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

Hannibal looked at the small assemblage of objects they had recovered from the wreckage, and shook his head slowly, disheartened. The meagre pile didn't include any medical supplies or cloths they could use as bandages, no food, and only a couple of weapons, but at least they had found a still usable, half-burned rucksack to put it all in, and a bit of water that had boiled in a metallic flask that didn't melt away in the fire.

"This is all we got. Which is not much. Now, we have to get moving, but where to?"

"I know a village about five miles to the north," Tia said. "We could try to get help there."

"Can you find your way in the jungle with this?" Hannibal said, handing her a compass, one of the few objects he had in his pockets, besides the lighter and the long cigars.

She nodded, taking the compass to lay it flat on her palm, looking at the swaying red arrow until it settled, and then she pointed to the trees with her index finger.

"That way. We should hit the road to that village sooner or later if we go that way."

"They ain't going nowhere on their feet, Hannibal," B.A said, frowning, looking at his unconscious friends with concern. "Carry one each?"

Hannibal also looked at Face and Murdock, pondering on the best way to transport them safely, and shook his head.

"No. I wish I could, but I can't carry any of them in my arms, at least not long enough. Not for five miles. And Face should not be transported on his abdomen over our shoulder, because that would kill him. Travois?"

B.A nodded with a grunt, looking for suitable, long pieces of wood immediately, as they had no more time to waste. They'd wasted enough already, and the Vietnamese soldiers would be on their tail soon.

When they gathered a few long sticks, they realized they didn't have anything suitable to secure the pieces together. Then, B.A pulled one of the gold chains from his neck and used it to tie the first two sticks.

"Your gold? Are you sure?" Hannibal said.

"Have you sommin' betta' I could use? Leme know then, or shut it," B.A said, frowning, and carried on using the gold chains, muttering under his breath. "My feckin' gold. I'll do what I wanna with the damn thing."

He worked as fast as he could until he had assembled two very basic structures to carry the injured men on. By the time he had finished, Murdock had regained consciousness, and was jabbering something about cookies and chocolate milkshakes, in a world of his own.

"Who's lighter?" B.A. asked. "You take the lighter one, Colonel."

"I don't know who's lighter. Murdock is a bit taller, but also thinner... It doesn't matter, not much difference. I'll carry Face," Hannibal said, dragging the travois to Face's side, the closest one, who was also waking up. Tia helped him to place Face on top of the structure, as carefully as they could, but he still hissed and complained in pain when they moved him.

"Are we going?" he mumbled, with fluttery eyelids that could not stay open for long.

"Yes. Finally. Hold on. You are not going to like this, and neither will I," Hannibal said. "Tia, can you carry that rucksack and show us the way, please? Thank you."

"I ain't no dragging no fool through the jungle, Hannibal!" B.A complained, with his usual sour face. "He'll gimme a headache with his yackety-yak!"

"Come on, I know you love him, just like the rest of us do. Let's go." Hannibal grabbed the travois sticks and started walking towards the trees, dragging Face behind him, resenting his busted ribs immediately. He sighed then, but didn't say anything, and carried on, gritting his teeth with determination. Those five miles would to be the longest ever.

"Hannibal…" Face called when he slid down of the tilted travois, too weak to hold onto it for support.

"Drat," Hannibal said when he realized he was losing Face already, dragging his boots along the grass. He left the travois on the ground again, pulled Face back up, and used his elastic, fashionable, red suspenders, passing them under his armpits before he secured them to the top, where the sticks met, hanging him there. "Better?" he asked when he got moving again.

"Yes."

"Momma! I need a big momma!" Murdock cried then, sucking his thumb like a baby. "Can I borrow your momma, B.A? She could bring me cookies, and hold my hand."

"Quit the jibba jabba, sucka! Be quiet and leave my momma outta this or I'll break your legs! And hold on tight!"

When B.A tilted the travois and started walking, the loony pilot held onto it by passing his right arm over a stick, turning a bit on his side, trying not to bother the left shoulder too much, and resumed the twaddle, talking nonsense to distract himself from the pain.

The group walked away from the smouldering wreck, making their way into the jungle. Tia walked first, using the compass, trying to find the easiest way for the travois to fit between the trees, which wasn't always easy. The going was tough, especially for Hannibal, and they made slow progress because they didn't have a machete to cut through the thick vegetation. However, even if they had one, they wouldn't want to leave an obvious passage for the soldiers to follow. From time to time, Tia walked to the back to rearrange the vegetation and erase the tracks left by the travois sticks, where they dragged along on the patches of soft soil, leaving deep dents and easy to spot marks. All in all, they advanced too slowly, and it would be dark before they reached the village.

AAA

Face was drifting in an out of consciousness, becoming feverish. When he was awake, his whole body ached. His wounds hurt terribly, with a constant, dull kind of pain, but he was also bothered by the red, elastic straps digging on his flesh, under his arms, and how uncomfortable he felt lying on those hard, rough pieces of wood that hurt his back. No matter how careful the colonel was, every time the sledge bumped or got tangled into something, and it required a good jerk to go forwards, Face gasped and complained in pain as he got shaken and thrashed around.

The third time that they stopped briefly so Hannibal could rest a bit, Face called his name. When the older man turned around, after leaving the travois on the ground, he slumped by his side, with his back leaning against a tree trunk. Face didn't like the way Hannibal was sweating and panting, out of breath, obviously in pain himself, resenting his ribs, with a protective hand resting over them.

"How are you doing, Kid?"

"Ha…nnibal… leave me here," Face said with a thin voice that was barely audible. "Please."

"That's not an option, Lieutenant."

"I slow you down… and you are hurting too… Have B.A carrying Murdock… Take care of yourself... Leave."

"You know I won't do that, so don't waste your breath and your energy on that nonsense. We don't leave anybody behind."

Hannibal didn't like how dry Face's lips looked. Neither how febrile his bright blue eyes seemed, or the beads of sweat covering his forehead. He touched it lightly, and it was burning. Whatever damage the broken shaft had done in his abdomen, it was very likely causing some sort of infection already, probably peritonitis.

"Tia, can you pass me the water, please?"

Tia handed over the metal flask she carried on the rucksack. Hannibal unscrewed the cap and carefully lifted Face's head, so he could drink, but he refused to take any.

"I'm dying... Don't waste it on me... You drink it."

"You are dehydrated already. Drink it."

"So are you."

"Shut up and drink some. This is an order, Lieutenant."

"Not until you do… And Murdock… Not enough… for everybody."

"We'll find more water soon. Drink it now. Don't make me force you, dammit. Drink!"

He tilted the flask, and water ran at the sides of Face's mouth. If the colonel was willing to waste it like that, Face thought that he better drank some, because he was so damn thirsty he could drink a whole lake. He took a few avid, long gulps, until Hannibal lifted the flask away, after giving him roughly a quarter of all the water they had.

"See? It wasn't that difficult, was it?"

"Your turn."

"Murdock first."

Hannibal passed the flask to B.A, who crouched by the loony pilot. As Hannibal had done, he also helped the injured man to lift his head. After a couple of sips, Murdock complained.

"This is no chocolate drink!"

"No. It's water, you fool! And ya need it, so have som'more."

Murdock drank a bit more, and then B.A passed the flask to Tia, who also took some before handing it over to Hannibal.

"Him first," he said, not taking the container, nodding towards B.A.

"Why? You go first," the bulky sergeant said.

"I am not that thirsty, and I need you in top condition, Sergeant."

"My arse you're not thirsty! And you got them busted ribs, while I don't, so you drink!"

"No, you drink first. Consider it an order."

"We're in the middle o' nowhere, Hannibal. Don't abuse your authority with no rubbish! _You_ drink first."

AAA

Tia stood between the two American soldiers, holding the flask, puzzled by their attitude. They didn't behave like the selfish bastards her mother's friend made her believe all the American soldiers were, including her father. In only a few hours she had seen the flipside to that lie. Her father had travelled all the way to Vietnam to find her when he found out about her existence, and these men had accompanied him, having nothing to do with her and her plight. She was moved by the way they cared for each other, and how concerned they looked for each other's safety. Many people she knew would have left the injured men behind, taking care of themselves, but not them. Looking at these two arguing about the water, she couldn't help to compare with the world she knew: no way Colonel Shu would care about his soldiers like the nice colonel with the white hair did. Shu would have drunk the whole flask first, without a second thought, disregarding the needs of his soldiers.

She liked the Americans, and she couldn't help feeling guilty about their hopeless situation. If it wasn't for her, orchestrating that stupid plan to kill her father, they would not be there, wounded and chased by a psycho. She knew their chances of escaping were pretty slim, but she promised herself she'd try her best to help them out of this mess she had created.

"I'll decide for you," Tia said, handing the flask to B.A. "You drink first." Right then, she loved the way Hannibal smiled, showing his _"victory grin"_ when B.A took the flask.

"Thanks, Tia," Hannibal said while the bulky sergeant took some long swigs. "If it wasn't for you, we could have been here arguing until tomorrow."

 _If it wasn't for me, you would not be here at all_ , she thought, unable to smile back this time.

After B.A, Hannibal took the last bit of water left, and returned the empty flask to Tia.

"Keep this. We'll find more clean water soon."

But it wasn't the case, as they only encountered dirty puddles along the way, not passing by any streams of running water.

AAA

By the time they hit the dirt road to the village, it was dark already, and they still had to walk at least another mile and a half, maybe longer, while hiding from any passers-by. The last short stretch in the jungle, with no light, had been especially difficult. Now in the open, at least they had the luxury of a bit of moonlight, and a flat surface to slide the travois, always easier.

Hannibal was struggling, pulling from the travois with the last reserve of strength he had, focusing on reaching their target while he thought about Face, and how guilty he felt for his sorry state. He could not push away the idea that he could have tried to handle the helicopter controls himself when things went tits-up, if he had managed to get into the cockpit before the helicopter spun like a windmill. Unlike Face, at least he had a bit of training operating aircraft, although he had not touched the controls of a helicopter for more than a decade, while Face didn't know shit about flying. The poor guy had been overwhelmed with the responsibility of landing that damaged chopper, that not even a fully-functioning Murdock could have landed safely under the circumstances, with the mechanical failure. Besides, if Face had not been so tense on impact, and avoided the controls, maybe he would not be so badly injured now, as it had happened to B.A and Murdock because they were already unconscious when the helicopter crashed, and their muscles were relaxed, absorbing the blow on their bodies a bit better. Tia had landed on the soft grass, like him, and their injures were also less important, at least hers, because she was only badly bruised, without any broken bones.

God, his ribs were hurting so much! But he could not contemplate leaving Face behind. No way. They all had to make it, together. As a team, as they always had.

"The village is there," Tia said, halting abruptly. That broke Hannibal out of his mental reverie, when he stopped behind her.

"Do you know anybody there? Anybody that would help us rather than turn us in?"

"I know a man who sympathizes with Americans. Another friend of my mother, a real one. He never wanted to be ruled by communism. But the government left him alone because he is the only healer in the area. Otherwise he would be dead already, considered a traitor."

"Is he a doctor?"

"No, but the closest thing you'll find around here."

"Great. How convenient," Hannibal said, leaving the travois at the side of the dirt road, with a long sigh, moving his shoulders in a slow, circular motion, to unwind his tight muscles. "B.A, keep guard. I'll go with her."

B.A also parked his travois at the side, and crouched down, keeping an eye on the road, while Tia and Hannibal walked the last stretch to the village, hiding in the shadows.

AAA

"Quang, open up, please. It's Tia," she said, knocking at the bamboo door of the hut.

"Tia? What are you doing here?" a voice said from the other side of the door.

"I need your help."

The door got open, ajar, and a man peeped through the gap, spotting Hannibal.

"Is that your father?"

"No. Please, let me in, before someone see us."

Quang opened the door and hustled them inside.

"Who is this man if he is not your father? He looks American."

"He is. A colonel. Hannibal Smith. He accompanied my father, General Fulbright."

"How do you do?" Hannibal said, but the man named Quang ignored him, focusing on Tia.

"Did you follow your crazy plan to lure him here then?"

"Yes."

"But you didn't kill him, did you?"

"No. Colonel Shu did."

"That bastard! I'm so sorry."

"Me too. You were right. My Lihn lied to me. I can see that now. Not all the Americans are selfish bastards as she made me believe."

"No. Some of them helped me during the war. Some of them cared about us, and many died here. For us."

"Yes. My mother said the same, but I didn't fully believe her."

"How can I help you? Why are you here?"

"We had an accident with a helicopter while getting away from Colonel Shu. Two of his men are badly injured after that crash. We need your help tonight, to treat their wounds, and we also need a place to hide and rest until the morning. And tomorrow, we'll need a transport to get to Hanoi."

"Nobody has a car in this village, Tia. You should know that. Things have not changed that much around here. Where are these injured men?"

"On the road, outside the village. We carried them through the jungle on travois."

"Bring them in then, and I'll see what I can do."

"Thank you," Hannibal said, and Quang nodded in his direction, acknowledging him this time.

AAA

"Captain, can you stand up? Can you walk?" Hannibal said, shaking Murdock lightly. "We have to move into the village now, but I don't want to leave any tracks with the travois."

"I think I may do that," Murdock said, taking Hannibal's hand to pull up. He stood on his feet, but he was too weak, and stumbled to a side immediately. "Ay, caramba!"

"I got you, don't worry," Hannibal said, supporting Murdock's good arm on his shoulder quickly, before he could fall, also holding onto his waist. B.A had Face already in his arms, in front of him, as if he was carrying a sick lady. "Tia, you get the travois. Lift them up, please, don't drag them, so you don't leave any tracks on the ground."

Just as before, they walked along the shadows as silently and inconspicuously as they could, until they reached Quang's house. He was waiting for them this time, and opened the door quickly to let them in.

"Leave the wounded man on that cot," he said to B.A. "And him on that rocking chair."

While Hannibal helped Murdock to the chair, Quang checked on Face, unbuttoning his shirt.

"Khốn nạn!" Quang said when he uncovered his torso.

 _Holy shit, indeed_ , Hannibal thought.

AAAAA


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

"Khốn nạn! Khốn nạn!" Murdock said, using his feet to push and swing the bamboo rocker, closing his eyes to enjoy the gentle, pleasant to and fro motion. "Shit. Shitty shiiiiit…"

The house had no electricity, and the multiple candles and oil lamps flickering around him created a soothing, sedative atmosphere, that together with the rocking, helped him to relax.

"This man needs a hospital," Quang said, shaking his head. "That wound looks serious."

"Yes, we know that. But it's not as if I have neglected taking him to the one down the road, is it?" Hannibal said, out of breath, slumping on another chair, at the end of his tether after the effort of dragging Murdock along.

"Are you all right, Hannibal?" B.A asked, worried about how weary the colonel looked. Hannibal nodded, with a dismissive gesture of his hand, but he didn't fool anyone.

"Can I give them some water? And food. They've not eaten anything for several hours," Tia said.

"Neither have you," Hannibal said.

"I have some _Phở_ left, but it won't be enough for all of them. You can make some more while I look at them," Quang said while feeling the dark bruise in the middle of Face's torso, over the stomach, checking his ribs and the sternum. Face gasped them, and tried to push his hand away, panting and groaning, distressed.

"Cold. I'm so cold," he said with his eyes closed, shivering.

"No. You are not cold. You are boiling hot," Quang said, touching his forehead and the wound in his abdomen, making him gasp in pain again. "Especially around that wound."

"He has been complaining of cold for the last two hours," Hannibal said. While in the jungle, he had used his light jacket to cover him up, because they didn't have a blanket or anything thicker they could use instead, but it had made no difference.

"How much blood did he lose?" Quang asked, taking Face's pulse.

"Not a lot. But he did," Hannibal said, pointing at Murdock, still rocking and now singing a lullaby. "But he seems to be much better now. He got shot, and I had to cauterize a blood vessel in his shoulder that would not stop bleeding."

"Did you?" Quang said, kind of impressed.

"I didn't know what else to do. He bled like a fountain to start with."

 _"…Cares you know not, therefore sleep, while over you a watch I'll keep…"_ Murdock sang in a quiet, sedative tone, with his eyes looking at the infinity, totally zoned out.

"Did you remove the bullet?"

"It went out at his back, so no need," Hannibal said. "I think he looks much better now. Stronger, and more focused than before."

 _"…Sleep pretty darling, do not cry…"_

"He must have a high fever, the same as this one."

"For the singing? No, I don't think so. This is his usual self. He's just trying to cope, that's all."

 _"…And I will sing a lullaby…"_

"Shut up, you fool! You are driving me nuts!" B.A said. "This is no time for lullabies!"

"Facey likes lullabies," Murdock said, still looking at what nobody else could see, pulling his feet up on the seat and hugging his knees while the rocker carried on swinging.

"Let him be, B.A. He can sing if he wants," Hannibal said, smiling when Tia offered him a glass of water and a bowl of not-so-warm soup. "This noddle soup smells delicious."

"You'll eat and drink first this time. No complaints. You look exhausted."

"Thanks, Tia," he said, gulping down the glass of water at once. Then, with no table to lean on, he held the bowl in his hands, close to his mouth, tucking in the noodles with gusto, despite being a bit cold, because he was starving.

While Tia got on with the task of making sure they all drank and ate something, including Face, Quang had a quick look at Murdock's wound. The man with the cap complained in pain when he removed his leather jacket, but he let him do it, as a compliant toddler.

"I only have two bags of fluids left. I'll use them in your men," Quang said, setting up the IV lines.

"Thank you. I'll pay you as much as I can for your help," Hannibal said in between spoonfuls.

"It's not about the money. It's about getting the right supplies in this forsaken place in the middle of nowhere what worries me."

"Tia said you're not a doctor."

"No, I'm not. I'm a healer."

"What's the difference?"

"I use my hands more. And I don't have a framed tittle to put on the wall."

"You speak very good English."

"Thank you. I learned it in Hong Kong, in my youth. I worked at a hospital there."

B.A helped Quang to hold Face's arm still, so he could set up the IV cannula in place, and then they did the same with Murdock. While the fluids ran, the healer approached Hannibal with a knowing look in his eyes.

"Let me have a look at your ribs," he said, taking the empty bowl off his hands.

"How do you know about them?"

"For the way you guard your side. They are fractured, aren't they?"

"I'm afraid so," Hannibal said, lifting his shirt so he could have a look. He flinched when Quang touched the bruise on his side, confirming his suspicions: he had two broken ribs, and a couple more badly bruised. Quang applied an herbal ointment over the skin, and then wrapped Hannibal's chest with a supportive bandage made of old rugs.

"I could give you a local anaesthetic, but I don't have much stuff left, and that guy over there will need it more than you."

"Yes, please, keep it for Face. Don't worry about me."

" _Face_?"

"That's his nickname, short of Faceman. His name is Templeton."

"Oh, I get it. _Face_ for the pretty looks?"

"Yes, something like that."

"That cut could do with some stitches. It's quite deep," Quang said, looking at Hannibal's forehead closely.

He cleaned that wound and proceed to stitch it up. Hannibal didn't complain while he pierced the skin with the needle, holding still, although it stung like hell. But he would not allow Quang to waste any precious local anaesthetic on that simple wound to spare him that discomfort, instead of saving it for Face.

"Rambo would have stitched this up himself," he said, chuckling, still keen to use humour.

"Rambo?"

"The guy in the movie. Yes, if I remember well, I think he takes a bullet out with his own hands, and a large piece of wood stuck in his abdomen, and he stitches up a deep gash in his arm himself. The best one is when he cauterizes the stick wound by setting himself on fire with the gunpowder of a bullet, while alone in the jungle, here, in Vietnam. Or was it Afghanistan? I can't remember. Apparently, the guy could take on a whole battalion armed only with a blunt, plastic kitchen knife," Hannibal said, chuckling. "It is an over-the-top Hollywood fantasy."

"Ah, that movie. I heard about it, but I haven't seen it. You have to go to Thailand or Hong Kong for that, because it is censored here. He rescues POWs, doesn't he?"

"Yes. The myth of the American POWs and MIAs left behind."

Quang gave him an odd look, but he didn't say anything else about the matter.

"Go to rest in that room now," he said after the last stitch, pointing at the door. "I think you need it. Take a candle with you. This village has no electricity, I am afraid."

"Yes, thank you. Please, do your best to patch them all up."

Hannibal looked at B.A, but before he could say anything, the bulky man already answered.

"You go and rest, Colonel. Don't worry. I'll keep an eye on things."

"Thank you, Sergeant."

AAA

In the jungle, Face could not stop shaking. He felt cold, very cold. His teeth chattered uncontrollably, and Hannibal's jacket didn't help. He needed a warm blanket, or even a thick duvet. At last, they had stopped walking, and he lay flat on the travois, thinking he could not stand the pressure of those sticks on his back for a further second, until suddenly, someone pulled the suspenders off the travois and lifted him carefully in his arms. He opened his eyes slightly, glad to see it was B.A, and he relaxed in his strong arms, welcoming the contact of his warm, powerful chest.

"Jeez, Face, you are boilin'."

"No. I'm… cold," Face insisted, closing his eyes again, with his head leaning on his friend's chest, with his barely aware brain wondering whatever happened to the ever-present gold chains and jewellery, which were not there anymore.

"Hold on. We goin' to a house now. No more draggin' ya around. We'll sort ya out now."

The next thing he registered, drifting in and out of consciousness, was lying on a narrow bed. An oriental man touched his broken ribs, and he tried to make him stop, groaning with the pain. But he couldn't push that prodding hand away, so in the end, he stood still, whimpering like a puppy, in desperation.

"Cold. I'm cold," he complained again.

"No. You are not cold. You are boiling hot."

The prodding hand moved, and when it touched his wound lower down, Face gasped and cried in pain again.

 _"Leave me alone!"_ he wanted to say, but he lacked the strength.

He could hear Hannibal talking to that man, talking about him and Murdock, but he didn't give a damn about what they were saying, lost in that harrowing wave of pain, fearing he was about to die.

Then, emerging from the background voices, he heard Murdock singing the lullaby he used to sing when they were locked together in a POW camp. Every time he was tortured and hurting, Murdock would take care of him, soothing him as the loving mother he never had, with a lullaby.

 _"…Cares you know not, therefore sleep, while over you a watch I'll keep… sleep pretty darling, do not cry…"_

Good, old crazy Murdock, the sanest of them all... He smiled inwardly then, oddly comforted by that song, before fading away one more time.

AAA

After Hannibal left the room, Quang got on with it. He cleaned the wounds of the injured men, applying natural ointments, poultices, and dressings, but also injecting antibiotics and painkillers through the IV lines, combining conventional and traditional ancient medicine as best he could. He checked Face's broken arm, and happy with the alignment of the bones, he used a better splint and bandages to hold it in place, placing the arm on a sling. He used another sling to support Murdock's shoulder as well, so in the end they looked pretty similar, both with the left arm tucked in.

When he returned the headband to Tia, she washed the dry blood in the sink, under the pump, while the new noddle soup boiled in the fire. The house had no electricity or sanitation, but at least it had a large sink with running water, extracted directly from the well at the back, by pressing on the pump's metallic lever.

While Quang did all that, B.A replaced all the gold chains still in both travois with rope, and he took his time to clean the jewellery free of mud and dirt before he put it all back around his neck.

Quang also applied acupuncture needles in strategic places all over Face, and only a few on Murdock to help him with the pain, but the man with the cap would not stand still, resenting the needles, so he had to remove them, afraid he would snap them all. He also used most of the local anaesthetic he had left on a nerve block to numb the pain on Face's broken ribs and sternum.

At last, when he had finished using all the conventional and traditional medicine he had available, he used his own hands, as a true healer.

AAA

"Come on, Face, wake up. You have to drink some water," he heard Tia say, as she slapped his face gently the next time he was half awake, coming in and out of the dark zone. B.A lifted his head and torso carefully, and Tia tilted the glass on his lips. He was even more thirsty than before, so when he realized fully of what was going on, he gulped the water in long swigs, so desperate for it she had to take away the glass after only a few seconds, fearing he would vomit all that water back up. "Slowly, take it slowly. Don't worry, we have plenty of water now. Don't be greedy."

After his thirst got quenched, B.A pulled from his good arm, and he felt the stinging pain of the IV catheter piercing his skin, sliding into his vein.

Fluids. That had to be good. That had to be a hospital. Great. He wasn't very keen on painkillers, but he waited for them with anticipation this time. When the morphine finally hit him, he relaxed, ignoring the touch of that doctor while he cleaned his wound, or when he had a look at his broken arm. Feeling much better already, he also ignored the tingling sensation of the little needles, and he lied still on that narrow bed, finally able to cope with all that pain he had, especially after that man injected something over his ribs and the pain in that area went away completely, instantly, obliterated as if he hadn't felt it at all. As if it had all been in his mind, like a bad dream.

After a while, he felt an odd radiating heat around the numbed area over his fractured ribs, and a euphoric sensation invaded him, making him feel extremely good, and energized. He opened his eyes and saw that man by his side, with his hands on him and his eyes closed, and a serious expression on his face, of deep concentration. Face didn't have a clue on what that man was doing, but it felt as if he was recharging his batteries somehow. It felt good, really good, so he didn't complain this time. He closed his eyes again, and when he opened them after a little while, Quang was looking at him, intently. He placed a hand on his forehead and that cleared his mind of any worries. Face felt at peace, and chilled, free of any discomfort. And he loved it.

AAA

B.A and Tia ate their _Phở_ while watching Quang treating Face. B.A was puzzled, because now that man didn't seem to be doing much, other than resting his hands on Face, moving them slowly over him sometimes, changing positions, but he wasn't poking and prodding and actively doing something, like before. And he was taking his time now, with no hurry. When he placed a hand on Face's forehead, he had to ask Tia about it.

"What's he doing?" he whispered.

"Healing. He's a healer," she whispered back.

"What?"

"He is healing your friend. With his hands."

"By touching him? Like Jesus?"

"Yes."

"Get outta here! I'm no falling for that! No way a man can heal like Jesus... He ain't no Jesus!"

"Ssssh… Just watch. Don't disturb him."

After a few more minutes, Quang disconnected the IV line, as the bag of fluids was empty now, leaving the cannula in place, and walked away from Face. He looked very tired all of a sudden, and he moved and talked slowly, as if worn out.

"You keep your fingers crossed, or take that man to a hospital to have that wound checked. I can't do more for him," he said, addressing B.A.

"I think you've done enough, thank you," Tia said.

"I'm sorry, but I can't do the same on him," he apologized, removing Murdock's IV cannula from his arm, as the bag of fluids had also finished. "It is too much. I need to rest now. You should move him to the other room, with the man with the white hair. He should not stay in that rocker all night."

"What about him?" B.A said, nodding towards Face.

"He'll move when he is ready."

"Really? Are you crazy? He can no move nowhere!"

Quang ignored him, looking at Tia.

"You know this is no hospital, Tia. This is my house, and I don't have the means. I don't have enough rooms, or beds. You'll have to sleep in a cot, with them in that room."

"That's fine, don't worry."

"Good night," Quang said, walking slowly to his own bedroom, the third and last room in the hut, dragging his feet along the way like an old man.

"Good night, thank you."

B.A checked the room where Hannibal was asleep, snoring softly, completely worn out, lying on his side with a hand resting on his busted ribs. The candle was still burning on a side table, casting flickering shadows on the walls. The room vaguely resembled a hospital ward, with two small beds on each side, and a space in between.

"If you insist on keeping guard tonight on your own, I'll take this bed," Tia said, sitting down at the edge of the closest one, yawning.

"Yes, you rest, little lady. You earned it today. Thank you so much for all your help."

"No, thanks to you," she said, lying down. She was so tired she fell asleep almost immediately, while B.A went to fetch Murdock.

"Come on, fool. I'll take you to the bed."

He held his sleepy friend in his arms, as he had done with Face, and took him to one of the beds, where he lay him gently. He took off his sneakers and his cap, which he left at the side table, and tucked him in with the light blanket, while the sleepy pilot mumbled something about a chocolate drink and B.A's momma.

"No chocolate, fool! Sleep tight. Hard day ahead tomorrow."

 _And a hard night ahead for me too_.

B.A returned to the main room, taking one of the guns from the rucksack. They were sitting ducks for that crazy Colonel Shu right then, but he would keep guard with all he had, just in case.

He blew a few candles and sat down on the rocker, watching Face. He looked much better now, with a healthier colour on his cheeks, and he seemed relaxed, without that grimace of pain he had showed almost permanently since the crash.

Face stirred then, waking up. He looked at B.A with a silly smile on his face, looking spaced out. B.A thought the guy was high on the morphine, which was a good thing, but when he talked, his speech was not slurred, as he expected.

"Hey, B.A. How are you doing? That rocker looks comfy. Can I try it? I'm fed up of lying down flat."

"Are you sure you can stand up?"

"Yes, I feel much better. I don't know what that guy did with his hands, but I feel much, much better. He recharged my batteries. And the ribs don't hurt anymore."

B.A helped Face back on his feet. It was like raising Lazarus, because the guy had looked half death only an hour ago. He helped him walk slowly to the rocking chair, where he slumped.

"Oh, nice, it's warm. I hope you didn't fart on it."

B.A chuckled, glad to see Face looking so well, and sat at the chair Hannibal occupied before. "Now that you mention it… I may have," he said, laughing at the disgusted wince Face pulled.

"I need a wee. I think that litre of saline has already gone somewhere."

"Wait a second, I saw a chamber pot over there before."

B.A walked to the other room and returned with the pot. He helped Face with the zipper, and then held the pot in place while he relieved himself.

"You didn't pass no urine all day, since the crash. This has to be a good sign."

"Thanks, B.A," Face said when he had finished. "Boy, I feel much better now. I thought my bladder could burst."

"It's so good to see you up and about, man. You had me worried," B.A said, taking the chamber pot away.

The same as Murdock had done when he first sat on it, Face pushed with his feet to rock the chair gently.

"Was Murdock rocking when he sang the lullaby?"

"Yes. Did you hear him? He was driving me nuts!"

"Yes, I heard him."

"I tried to make him shut up, but he said you like lullabies."

"And I do, indeed. He used to sing that one when we stayed prisoners for ten days in that POW camp, remember? Before you guys bailed us out," Face said, with an odd glare in his spaced-out eyes while he remembered the images only he could see. "He did that every time they tortured me for a statement against the US Army, when I wanted to give up on life. After each session, when I was hurting, he soothed me like the mother I never knew, so I could fall asleep."

"Did he?" B.A didn't know anything about the lullabies. He felt really bad then, after shouting at Murdock when the fool was only trying to help. Thinking about it, while he sang, Murdock had a similar zoned-out expression as the one Face was showing now, like lost in thought. B.A grabbed the gun he had set down before, and sat down on his chair again.

"I think the lullabies kept our sanity. Or at least, mine. I don't think he ever got out of that horrible place completely."

Face looked at the gun B.A was holding.

"Are you keeping guard tonight?"

"Yes."

"Please, promise me something. Don't let them take me into a camp again. Shoot me with that gun if you have to, but don't let them take me. Please."

"You sound like the fool now. Shooting you? Bullshit!"

"I mean it. Shoot me," Face said, dead serious.

"Nobody is taking no one to a POW camp! They don't exist anymore, and even if they did, I won't let them bastards take you, OK?"

"OK. Thanks. Promise?"

"Yes, I promise."

"Please, don't fail me. I'd lose it like Murdock if I ever go back."

He rocked the chair gently for a while, humming the lullaby to himself, in a nearly inaudible tone, until he asked B.A to help him back to the cot, where he fell asleep.

B.A sat back on the rocker, which was way more comfortable than the chair, and set himself to keep guard all night, wondering one more time what exactly had happened to Face and Murdock in that POW camp. When they got to them, they were both badly hurt, physically and mentally, and they had to stay at the military hospital for a while, before they returned to duty, but they hardly ever talked about it. Tonight, it had been one of the rare occasions B.A had a glimpse of what it could have been. Hell, sure, if Face was begging to get killed before he had to endure that again.

AAAAA


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

About 4am, Hannibal entered the main room and sat at the old chair, in front of B.A.

"How are you doing, Sergeant? Anything to report?"

"Nothing, Colonel. All clear. But if those suckers were comin' for real, we'd have no chance."

"I know. No perimeter, no alarms, no weapons, no way to get out…"

"Yeah, we're sittin' ducks here. Have you got a plan yet?"

"We need a vehicle to get to Hanoi, and that's all I know. How is he doing?" he said, looking at Face.

"He looked much better after that Jesus wannabe put his hands on'im."

"What?"

"Sorry, you didn't get to see that. That guy, the healer. He did something to Face. Unbelievable, man! Something else, I'm tellin' ya... He got up like Lazarus and sat here for a while, in the rocker."

"Face? Face got up last night?" Hannibal said, incredulous, and B.A nodded, with a wide grin. "That's very good news!"

"Yes, he's on the mend, our spunky Face," B.A said, still grinning, fond of his pal, but the serious, worried expression returned fast. "So, transport... Where do we get a car?"

"I don't know. Quang said there are no cars around here. We'll ask Tia."

Hannibal paid attention at the gold chains then, now back on B.A's neck.

"I see you recovered your gold. It was a touching moment, when you used it to secure the travois."

"These two fools are more important to me than any gold."

"I had my doubts 24K gold would be strong enough to hold the sticks together, but it did, well done. You are lucky the chains didn't snap in pieces, though, losing them along the way."

B.A expression morphed slowly from his usual sour face to a wide, cheeky smile.

"I'll tell you a secret: it's not real gold. Only gold-plated."

Hannibal laughed then, tapping B.A's knee.

"No shit! You always brag about your 24K gold!"

"And, my chains are thick and heavy. They won't break that easily. They symbolize the shackles of my African ancestors, because no one will ever turn B.A Baracus into a slave!"

"I always wondered how could you afford all that jewellery with your non-existent _salary_. Now I know!" Hannibal said, still in stitches.

"Damn, Hannibal, if you tell anybody, specially them two fools, I'll smash your face! I mean it! Stop laughing!" B.A said, with his smile evaporated, back to the angry, aggressive scowl, waving the gun still in his hand way too close to Hannibal's face for comfort, disregarding gun safety.

"Don't worry. Your secret is safe with me. Now, why don't you go and rest for a while? I'll keep an eye on things," Hannibal said, now serious, taking the menacing gun off B.A's hand.

"Yes, thank you. I'm so tired now," B.A said, yawning. "I could do with some sleep, sure."

"Go, because I'll need you fresh and sharp in only a few hours."

"How's them ribs?"

"Better, thank you. I don't know what ointment Quang rubbed in there, but it's working."

"Good. Any blood in your urine? Face passed some, and it was bright red. I didn't tell'im."

"No, mine is OK. For Face, passing blood is something to be expected, after that blow to his abdomen. But it's good that he's passing urine, of any colour, because his bladder could have burst. We have to get him to a hospital ASAP. Even Quang said so, despite his magical healing hands."

"Yes, better get'im checked over by a proper doctor too. All right, I'll rest now. See ya at dawn."

After he left, Hannibal sat at the rocker, thinking intently, pondering what to do. He could go with B.A to find a vehicle and return to pick up the rest, or they could all go on the search, but that would slow them down. Murdock and Face would be better off resting and receiving further treatment from the healer, rather than getting dragged around again in the travois, but, if this was the only "doctor" in the area, it was very likely this would be one of the first places Colonel Shu would look for them after the helicopter crash. Besides, despite Tia's efforts to hide their tracks, he couldn't fool himself: any soldier with half a brain should be able to pick up their trail, with the wide path of trodden vegetation and the marks left behind by the travois. It was sort of a miracle that Colonel Shu wasn't knocking at the door already. For all those reasons, the chances of getting captured were quite high if they stayed at the healer's house.

So, either way, if Murdock and Face were left behind in the morning to rest, or they took them along, denying them medical treatment in the form of antibiotics and painkillers, whatever Hannibal decided to do, his decision would be like gambling with their safety. And he didn't like gambling.

AAA

Face woke up again at dawn. When Hannibal heard him stir, he stood up and walked to his side, touching his forehead, glad to see it wasn't boiling anymore.

"Hey, kid, how are you feeling?"

"Great. Great. Much better, thank you," Face said, showing one of his best smiles, looking at his boss with his blue eyes still spaced-out, but not so much as before. He even used his right hand to gesticulate widely to emphasize his words, as he liked to do at any occasion, but this time, it was odd to see the IV catheter taped to his arm. "I'm telling you, that doctor is good, really good."

"He's not a doctor. He's a healer."

"What do you mean he's no doctor? He has to be a doctor! He gave me fluids, and patched me up, and I feel much better already… Although, I think I need another shot of morphine; it's wearing off already."

"B.A said you walked to the rocker last night. He said that was something else, like raising Lazarus from the dead."

"Lazarus?" Face said, frowning, and then he laughed. "I'm no Lazarus! And what about you? Did that doctor give you a shot of that wonderful local anaesthetic on your busted ribs? Isn't it great? It took away my pain like magic. I hope he gives me another shot when this one wears off, together with the morphine."

"Yeah, nifty stuff," Hannibal lied, not keen to start a discussion about Quang's shortage of local anaesthetic, who should have it, and why Face would not get a full top-up dose later on.

"Can I have some water, please?"

"Yes, of course."

Hannibal got a glass of water from the sink and helped Face to lift his torso a bit to drink it. The kid seemed to be breathing fine, and Hannibal thought it was sort of a miracle the blunt trauma to his ribs and sternum had not damaged his lungs or his liver badly, because they could have been pierced by the bone fragments. Right then, while Face drunk some water, Quang walked in, still looking tired, but not so much as when he retired to his room.

"How do you feel this morning?"

"Much better, thank you," Face said, lying back down. "I don't know what you did to me, but hey, thank you so much."

"How's the pain?"

"Still manageable, but I think the morphine is wearing off."

"Yes. You need more now," Quang said, preparing the injection. "And more antibiotics."

"I should wake the others now," Hannibal said. "We have to get moving, because I have the bad feeling those soldiers will be here soon."

"What's the plan?" Face said while Quang used the IV cannula still in his right arm to administer the drugs.

"To get a vehicle, of any kind, and get you to a hospital in Hanoi."

"I thought I don't need a hospital anymore," Face said, sighing and relaxing when the morphine hit him again.

"Even if you feel better, I would like to have that stab wound in your abdomen checked. You should have X-rays, an ultrasound exam… the whole works, because we still don't know the damage that broken control shaft has done in there. And they have to fix your arm properly as well."

"Oh, bummer. If you say so… take me to a hospital then. But I'd prefer to wait until we get to the US. That would be less risky, for everybody."

"We'll see. That's another possibility, yes, but only if you are stable."

Tia walked in too, still looking tired, yawning.

"How's everybody? I'll prepare something to eat quickly. I guess we are leaving as soon as possible."

"Yes, thank you, Tia. I'll help you to prepare the fire," Hannibal said.

While they did that, B.A appeared, helping Murdock, supporting most of his weight on his shoulder, dragging him along until he flopped at the rocker again.

"Face, you are awake!" Murdock said, happy to see his pal looking so well. "How are you feeling?"

"I'm all right. Doctor gave me another shot of morphine now. Groovy!" he said, with his speech a bit slurred. "Get some."

Murdock looked at Quang with pleading eyes. His painkillers were also wearing off, and his shoulder hurt again.

"You need another dose, yes," Quang said, preparing the injections for him. Then, he pulled at his right arm, and placed it straight on the armrest. "Hold still now."

"Why do I have to have the needle? It hurts," Murdock said, hissing, when the needle pierced his skin and vein. "Where's my cannula? Face has a cannula. I also had a cannula!"

"I removed it last night after you had the fluids." Quang said without looking at him, concentrated on administering the morphine slowly, directly into Murdock's cephalic vein.

"Why?"

"Because I didn't trust you. Last night, you looked like the kind of fool that uncaps the end and stupidly bleeds to dead overnight on his sleep. Or at least, makes a bloody mess on the bed, if he's lucky and gets a clot in the catheter before that happens. As you already lost a lot of blood from your wound, I couldn't risk it."

Murdock thought about it for a moment and then nodded, acknowledging the truth in that statement.

"Hum…Fair enough. Fool-proof measures. Aaaah… that feels gooooood," he said, relaxing on the rocker with his eyes closed. It felt similar as when the doctors at the V.A hospital tried to calm him down with heavy sedatives, but without getting too sleepy. "Good stuff. I'm alright now," he added with a slurry voice. Then, he tried to stand up and managed to walk a couple of steps, but he was too weak and fell on his face, screaming when he hit his injured shoulder.

"Damn fool! You are too weak to walk on your own with no help!" B.A cried, helping him up, dragging him back to the rocker. "Stay there, for fuck sake!"

Hannibal discussed with Tia and B.A their options then. She said the nearest place where they could get a car was a larger village at the other side of the valley, twenty miles away if they cut through the jungle, or much longer if they followed the dirt road.

"That's a bit of a trek. We can't drag them on the travois for that distance. Well, maybe you can, B.A, but I don't think I do. And, even if they look better already this morning, they can't walk for miles in the jungle."

"They should stay here," Quang said. "You shouldn't move them so soon, especially the good-looking one."

"Who, me?" Murdock said, but everybody ignored him.

"Yes, I thought about that, but this is the first place Colonel Shu will look for us. Leaving them here is too risky."

"There is a concealed cellar in that room, where they can hide," Quang said, pointing at his small hospital ward.

"Show me."

Hidden under one of the cots in that room, there was a trapdoor on the floor, covered by a rug. It led to a small storage room below.

"Is this well ventilated? Is it safe to stay there?"

"I think so. I can move two of the cots there, and they can stay out of sight until you return with the vehicle."

Hannibal was reluctant to leave Murdock and Face behind, but he knew that in this case, he and no choice. He couldn't take them with him now.

"All right. Come on, let's get moving."

AAA

Walking in the jungle without dragging a travois was much, much easier. They advanced at a good pace, and Hannibal hoped they would be back with a car in the evening. Tia had insisted on accompanying them for the first few miles, showing them a shortcut through the jungle that would cut the total journey on at least ten miles.

"From here, follow this path until you hit the dirt road again, and then turn right. Nghῖa Nhơn is about 15 miles from there."

"Thank you, Tia. You saved us a lot of time and effort. Take care now, and please, look after Murdock and Face until we return."

"Yes, I'll do, don't worry. See you soon."

AAA

Murdock and Face rested quietly in that cellar for a few hours, until they heard voices in the house, talking in Vietnamese.

"Who are they? What are they saying?" Face whispered, with his heart racing frantic.

"Soldiers. They are looking for us," Murdock said, standing up, listening intently. Of the team, he was the one with a special ability for languages, the one who had learned to speak Vietnamese fluently during the war, not only the odd word and sentence like the others.

"Oh, no. Oh, boy. Fuck, no! B.A promised me!" Face cried, fretting, sitting up in his cot, ignoring the pain in his abdomen.

"Quiet!" Murdock whispered, with a finger on his lips. They had a small candle burning in that small space, that hardly gave them any light at all, but it was enough for him to see how much Face was panicking. "Calm down and be quiet or they'll hear you! And we don't want that!"

Face shut up immediately and they carried on listening.

"Quang is telling them he hasn't seen us. I think they are buying it."

Their host had got rid of all the evidences by burning all the blood-stained cloths and dressings, and the used medical supplies in the fire, and then he had cleaned and tied up the hut. He even remembered to put the travois out of sight too, with them in that cellar, and he didn't leave any clues on display in that house to suggest he wasn't alone.

Murdock and Face held their breath when they heard steps wandering at the room above their heads, but nothing happened.

Then, a distinctive, aggressive voice menaced Quang in a way even Face understood.

"I think that's Colonel Shu," Murdock whispered, "telling Quang he better be telling the truth, or else. He's also asking about Tia. I don't think he knows they know each other."

After a further exchange of angry words, there was silence. It looked like the soldiers had left the house.

"Is that it? They left?" Face said, letting go of the air he had kept immobile in his lungs for a while, while holding his breath inadvertently.

"I think so. But don't move. Don't do anything. If it's safe, Quang will come to us."

AAA

After they hit the dirt road, Hannibal and B.A stopped to eat the _Bánh xèo_ Tia had quickly prepared for them. They had covered the more treacherous terrain already, and the hike should be easier from now, as long as they were careful not to be seen by anybody using that road. The stuffed pancake tasted delicious, and it filled their rumbling stomachs up nicely.

"That was tasty," Hannibal said, munching the last piece.

"Yes. Yummy."

The colonel finished his portion and stood still, lost in thought, looking at the jungle.

"B.A, I have this nagging feeling all the time now. The bad kind of _jazz_ , you know? I can't stop wondering: did we do the right thing leaving them behind?"

"I think so. We would be miles behind if we were dragging them around. It would take ages to get to that village. And they were not comfortable lying on the sticks, not at all. They said that."

"No, the travois didn't look very comfy at all. Shit, I hope I took the right decision."

"Too late to worry now, Hannibal, so don't fret about it. They are hiding, and they'll be fine. Come on, let's get going. The sooner we get to a car, the better."

Hannibal stood up and got on walking, following the road, and B.A walked close behind him.

B.A didn't want to say it, but he also had the bad kind of "jazz" giving him trouble. He was bothered about it, especially when he thought about the promise he made to Face, because if the soldiers discovered them in that cellar, that would be a promise he could not keep.

AAA

About half an hour after the soldiers left, they heard angry voices shouting and arguing, trashing things around, talking in fast and aggressive Vietnamese.

"Fuck," Face said, feeling a chill up his spine, sitting up on his cot again, resenting his ribs now as the local anaesthetic had completely worn off. "Are the soldiers back? What are they saying now?"

"Shit. Yes, the soldiers are back. Someone saw us last night, and sold us out," Murdock said, standing up again, to listen close to the trapdoor above his head.

There was some more arguing and shouting in Vietnamese, and then, the sound of the punches and the desperate cries that followed sent Face on a PTSD kind of trance, shaking involuntarily with the overwhelming terror that had crawled out of the recess of his mind where he had locked it down for more than fifteen years. He was lucky he had relieved himself in the chamber pot that morning and his bladder and bowels were empty, or he could have soiled himself with an uncontrollable reflex to relax the sphincters, paralyzed in the spot with the fear. As a member of the A-Team, and its Face Man, he had been kidnapped and beaten up many times during the last fourteen years, without much drama, but now, he was back in Vietnam, chased by a psycho Vietnamese officer, and those angry shouts and thumping noises brought back the traumatic memories he had tried so hard to supress, in a vivid flashback, and he lost his ability to reason, in a blind panic.

"They are beating Quang to a pulp, asking him where we are. It's only a matter of time before they find us, because they are tearing the place apart," Murdock said, locking eyes with Face, recognizing the same horror and the desperation he saw in those blue eyes so many times before, while at the POW camp. The horror and the desperation he would mirror in his own eyes back then. He crouched in front of his friend and grabbed his head to look at him directly in the eye, from a short distance. "Face, please, stay strong. Calm down and don't lose it. Don't become me!"

"Oh, no, please, no," Face said in a high-pitched tone, as his throat tightened up in a knot with the fear, while trembling and shaking his head wildly. "I don't want to be tortured again!"

"Neither do I, Facey. Neither do I," Murdock said, hugging his friend tightly for comfort, ignoring the pain in his shoulder when Face leaned on him.

"I can't take it!"

"Yes, you can. And you will. Now, remove the sling, and pretend you are not injured. Don't show them any weakness."

He took off his own sling and then helped Face to take his broken arm out of his, unrolling his sleeves down to the wrists to cover the splint. Then, he folded both cloths and placed them in the wide pockets of his pilot jacket. After that, he pulled at the lapels of Face's light, explorer khaki jacket to align both sides. "Button that up to hide the bloodstains on your shirt."

Face looked at him with his jaw dropped, amazed by Murdock's clear head at a time of crisis like that, when most of the times he couldn't see reality from a TV cartoon. That was more like the Murdock he had met at the beginning of the war, before the hazards of wartime sent him off his rocker.

After helping Face with the buttons, Murdock had a look at the obvious hole in his pilot jacket, and the dry bloodstain around it, over his left shoulder, which matched the marks on his T-shirt under it. Unlike Face, there was no way he could hide those bloodstains successfully, so he decided to ignore them.

"Shit! They got Tia now!" Murdock said, standing up again, listening intently to the discussion upstairs. "Quang held on like a trooper so far, but he will tell them now where we are, and I won't blame him."

Face swallowed hard, still trying to regain control and stop shaking.

"Fuck."

"Here they come. Brace yourself. Be strong," Murdock said then, sitting back down on his cot when the soldiers moved the furniture out of the way and burst the door open.

AAAAA

 ** _A.N – As you can imagine, this story is about to get a bit gory… Oops. I hope I can refrain myself and not offer too much detail. But it will be hard for me, because I like gory details too much._**

 ** _Thank you for all the favs and follows and the kind reviews._**

 ** _Please, keep them coming to keep me motivated to finish this, thanks. ;)_**


	6. Chapter 6

**_A.N – Yes, we finally got to the torture scenes. I hope it's not too much or too detailed for your liking, but this chapter is only the beginning. Please, review, and let me know if you think this chapter should have a M rating for violence. I'm afraid I turned Colonel Shu into a masochistic psychopath who enjoys causing pain and misery too much._**

 ** _Enjoy the chapter. Or suffer. Whatever. Poor Facey. Poor Murdock. Ouch._**

 **Chapter 6**

When Tia arrived at the tiny village, she saw military vehicles parked everywhere. Instead of turning around to escape undetected, she tried to get closer to Quang's hut to check the situation. From a shorter distance, she could hear his screams and groans as they beat him up, while they asked him for the location of the Americans, but he didn't answer them.

It happened too quickly for her to react appropriately, using all her Kung Fu training: while she hesitated, pondering what she could do to help, a soldier put a gun to her head and made her walk into the house, with her hands held high.

"Look what I found out there!" that soldier said in Vietnamese. "The half-bred American traitor!"

"All right, tell me where they are, or I'll kill that bitch!" Colonel Shu shouted in Vietnamese when he saw her. He pulled Quang's hair, lifting his head up so he would look at her.

Horrified, she could see how her mother's friend had taken a tremendous beating, as his face was swollen and bleeding from his nose, mouth and other places, looking almost deformed with those puffy eyelids.

"Leave her alone," Quang said with a shaky, nasal, weak voice, spitting out some blood and a loose tooth.

"Where are they?!" Colonel Shu shouted, insisting, shaking Quang's head while still holding him up from his hair. "Why do you insist on not telling me? What do you care about them?"

"I'll tell you, but only if you leave her alone."

"Come on, tell me now, or she'll die! I do not negotiate!"

The colonel nodded towards the soldier holding Tia, who pressed with the gun at her temple, holding her tighter, twisting her arm behind her back. Then, Quang gave up.

"There is a cellar under one of the beds, in the other room."

"It wasn't that difficult, was it?" Colonel Shu said, laughing, pushing Quang forward, smashing his face against the floor and then stumping on the back of his head with his boot.

Tia cried and ran to Quang's side when the soldier let go of her. They all ignored her, busy as they were dealing with the American soldiers.

AAA

They dragged Face out of the concealed little cellar first, dumped him unceremoniously on top of the old chair in the main room, the one Hannibal and B.A had sat on before, and then yanked his arms to tie them behind his back. His head drooped down as he suffocated a cry with his eyes closed, panting through gritted teeth. With his mind on overdrive, he finally regained control over his fear and the panic he could not allow himself to show, and he tried hard not to let out any kind of distressed sound, not even a soft whimpering, because he didn't want them to focus on his broken arm. Or on any of his injuries, for that matter.

He was aware of the presence in the room of that psycho Colonel, the one who had tortured and killed General Fulbright, as he had caught a glimpse of him when they dragged him out of the cellar. That bastard was probably making his way to him now from the other side of the room, pondering where to hit him first, so he tried to be as quiet and inconspicuous as possible, under the circumstances, focusing on the breathing and the pain-management techniques he had used so many times before. But he was the elephant in the room, and no way he would not get any attention from his captors. No way, as much as he pretended not to be there.

" _Liver punch. Liver punch_ ," he repeated in his head, like a mantra. _"That, or a kick in the balls."_

He would have never imagined he'd wish for that kind of devastating blow, but with the smashed solar plexus and ribs, and the open wound in his lower abdomen, the liver was the less worrying spot to be hit on his torso right now, other than his face, but he didn't want to be punched on the face either. His face was his tool, and he had to keep it as intact as possible. A liver punch would be better than anything else.

As further self-consolation, he thought that the mean, little bastard in command wasn't B.A, so he had nothing to worry about. That yellow midget would hit him like a little girl, and probably break his own hand while trying to break his already broken ribs... he wished.

With his eyes still closed, Face could hear Murdock struggling and babbling nonsense when they sat him down on the rocker beside him. Unlike him, the loony pilot was quite feisty, and Face wished he would shut up and don't antagonize the psycho. But he couldn't say so, because right when he was about to tell Murdock to be quiet, his wish was granted, and Colonel Shu delivered a hard punch to his right side, towards the back, under the ribs, which made a dull, thud sound, when his liver got bust. The blow made Face jerk upwards, and he then bent forward as far as he could, hissing and groaning, trying to protect his side, out of breath again and nearly fainting on the spot like a knocked-out boxer caught off-guard. Unfortunately, that hateful, nasty little bastard was stronger than he looked.

Face let out a snort then, accompanied by a sour grin of desperation, because that kind of pain could not really qualify as "better" in any way. The shock wave of that terrible blow had scattered all over his already aching abdomen, taking the pain to a new level.

"That made you laugh?" Colonel Shu said in English, grabbing Face's under his chin, jerking his head up in an iron grip, crushing his throat.

 _Definitely stronger than he looks, the son of a bitch._

"No, not really. Carry on, please," Face muttered, opening his eyes a bit to look at the psycho, still trying hard to keep his fear to himself, using defiance as a shield.

The next blow, which nearly fractured his cheek bone, toppled him over, and he fell to the ground, still attached to the chair, banging his head on the floor. The dark, inviting cloud was lurking nearby already after the first blow, and it came down quickly then, surrounding him like a thick, black fog. Face welcomed the darkness, willingly giving up on life one more time, but he still had time to hear Murdock's cry before he passed out.

"Leave him alone, you bloody bastard!"

Murdock shifted on the rocker, pulling from the ropes binding his arms to the armrests, ignoring the pain in his shoulder. Damn psycho! He could not let that son of a bitch torture Facey. His pal was struggling to cope already as he was. He didn't need any more blows and broken bones, and even less, any damage to his handsome face, because the team needed his trademark, beautiful face intact. _Don't hit him on the face! Or anywhere else! Don't touch him!_

Colonel Shu approached him quickly, with a zero-tolerance for insults written all over his severe, mean face. He spotted the bloodstain in Murdock's jacket at once, and without a word, he punched him on the shoulder, right over the gunshot wound, setting the rocker off in motion.

When the loony pilot made honour of his nick-name "Howling Mad", due to his desperate, agonizing cry, the colonel stopped the rocker with his left hand on the backrest, jerked the jacket off behind Murdock's back, out of the way, and then pinched his shoulder over his bloodstained T-shirt, squeezing the wound with his iron grip, digging his right thumb in it, twisting it, deep inside. Murdock's agonizing howling didn't last long after that, as he passed out with the unbearable pain almost immediately.

"American weaklings… Soft as jelly," he said in Vietnamese, sniggering. "Wake them up!"

AAA

Face came to slowly, feeling cold and soaking wet, just in time to see how the soldiers threw a bucket of cold water over Murdock, hitting his face hard with it. He also came to, startled, coughing up the water that had forced its way into his nose and mouth.

"Hello, again," Colonel Shu said, grabbing Face's neck as before, under his jaw, jerking his head up with his iron grip. "I didn't get to ask you any questions before you fainted like a little girl."

The lieutenant swallowed hard, with his face swelling and becoming red quite quickly, due to the pressure exerted over his blood vessels as he got choked, but he held the psycho's gaze quite well this time, trying not to show the fear that paralyzed him. Whatever that colonel would ask him now, he would not answer, but partly because he was too scared to articulate a word, not just because he didn't want to.

"Where are the others? The man with the white hair and the fatty black."

"I wouldn't call B.A a " _fatty_ ", Sir," Murdock said, trying to divert Shu's attention from Face. "You may get away calling him " _well-built_ ", at the most."

Those words made Face choke with an ill-timed, nervous titter, which enraged the psycho Colonel even more. He gestured to his men, letting go of Face's neck, and one of the soldiers freed his hands while another one actioned the pump in the large sink to fill it up.

 _Oh, no. Water torture_ , Face thought, fretting, fully aware of what was coming next. That was one of the Viet Cong favourite routines. He had been there a few times while at the POW camp, feeling the anguish caused by not being able to breath. To be taken to the brink of drowning repeatedly was the kind of torture that made many men capitulate with the desperate need for another intake of air, at whatever cost. Since those harrowing experiences, many nights he had awoken in the middle of the night, covered in sweat and gasping for air, while suffering a flash-back nightmare. But he never told anyone about it, especially not his mates of the A-Team.

Two soldiers dragged him to the sink, with his feet brushing the ground behind him, as his legs had given weight completely with the pain and the fear, and they held him there while the psycho asked the same question again.

"Where are the others? And why are you here?"

Even if Face wanted to answer the questions, they didn't let him, because they pushed his head into the sink immediately, without giving him time to take a deep breath. He struggled under the water, groaning and complaining, until he remembered the trick for survival: relax while holding his breath, without screaming or fighting, timing the respirations perfectly when he would be pulled out of the water next. Which he would, eventually, even if it always looked like he would not be able to hold his breath for another lousy second. Under the water, he could hear the muffled and distorted cries of Murdock, telling the bastards off, until he suddenly shut up, probably after receiving a direct blow on his mouth to keep him quiet.

When they pulled him out, he gasped for air immediately, concentrating on getting the sequence right, while the Colonel asked him the same question again. This time, however, they gave him a few seconds to answer, but as he didn't, they pushed his head back down. While pushing, one of the soldiers pulled from his broken arm, twisting the splint, and he gasped in pain when he hit the water, swallowing some. That truly felt like drowning. He struggled under the water then, screaming, only getting more and more water into his lungs, and the more he struggled, the stronger the grip of the soldier over his broken arm.

 _That's it, I'll die now_ , Face thought, giving up when the dark cloud floated around him one more time.

He stood still then, not struggling anymore, and the soldiers let go of his head, which stayed in the water.

"Get him out!" Colonel Shu barked in Vietnamese. In all his years administering pain, he had never seen anybody giving up so quickly, after only the second, forced duck-in.

The soldiers pulled Face off the sink and dropped him on the floor, where he fell heavily, sprawled like a ragdoll.

"For crying out loud, get that water out of his lungs!" Murdock cried then, when he recovered from the blow that had split his lip.

The Colonel nodded, and one of the soldiers tilted Face to his side, slapping his back hard a few times until he coughed up some water and started breathing again.

"Strip him up!" Shu cried then in Vietnamese.

When the soldiers removed Face's water-soaked jacket and shirt, revealing the dressings covering his wounds and the splint, the Colonel showed the most sadistic smile Murdock had ever seen. And he had seen a few. That man was a psychopath who would get an instant present in the form of a straitjacket if he ever visited his V.A hospital.

"That's why he's passing out all the time, because he's injured already. Leave him for now," the colonel said in Vietnamese, turning his attention to Murdock. "Perhaps you can tell me where the white-haired man and the fat black are?"

"I told you calling him _"fat"_ it's not a good idea. Don't insist. He'll smash your face when he finds out."

"Like this?" Colonel Shu said, delivering a hard blow to Murdock's nose, which cracked under his knuckles.

Murdock groaned in pain then, with blood running profusely off both his nostrils. He was already bleeding from the corner of his mouth, with a split lip after the previous punch to shut his mouth when he complained loudly about the abuse on Face. From that moment on, he withdrew into the amusement park asylum of his own convoluted mind, in an alternative reality free of pain and full of comfort, and his words and behaviour made no sense whatsoever anymore to the outside world. The colonel kept hitting him mercilessly, irritated by all that twaddle about cotton-candy and how to get the muffin-man delivering cupcakes.

 _"Do you know the muffin man…. the muffin man… the muffin man…?"_ Murdock sang in between blows.

"Leave him alone! Can't you see he is not right on the head?" Tia cried, unable to watch the punishment in silence anymore. Murdock's face was quickly becoming a pulp of blood, similar to Quang's.

Colonel Shu left Murdock alone, with his head lolling forward as the chair carried on rocking with the inertia, semiconscious but still muttering the odd word, with blood running down his nose like a fountain, down his neck and onto his already bloodstained T-shirt. Shu turned to look at Tia, who was still by Quang's side, sitting on the floor.

"What about you? Do you know where they are?"

"No! They left his morning, leaving them behind. American selfish bastards! They are all the same! They are not coming back."

"Really?"

"They left them behind, as my father left my pregnant mother behind. I hate them all! They only want to save their own arses!"

"I think you are lying, but, you'll tell me the truth. Soon. I'll see to it."

The Colonel turned around to bark some orders in Vietnamese to his men, annoyed because the fun was over for the second time, and he still hadn't got any information from the Americans at all. But only for the moment. He would try again later on at the prison camp. Many times. As many times as he needed, or wanted.

"Take them with the others! And her too!"

Four soldiers dragged the unconscious bodies of the Americans to one of the trucks, while another one made Tia walk to the same truck at gun point.

Shu ordered some of the soldiers to stay behind, guarding the house to catch the others if they returned, and on his way out, he stopped by Quang's battered body. He was bleeding, curled up in a ball on the floor, close to the door, immobile.

"You've been allowed to live this long only because you are a healer, capitalist traitor!" Shu said in Vietnamese, kicking him hard one more time before he spat on him. "Heal yourself now, motherfucker!"

He walked out of the hut then, laughing, and they all followed him, leaving Quang behind on his own, barely alive.

AAA

On the way to the prison, Colonel Shu looked at his right hand. It was swollen, and it hurt. It was always the same: he would get carried away and damage his own hands badly while beating the prisoners up, because he didn't know when to stop. But it wouldn't be the same if he ordered his soldiers to beat them up for him. It had to be him, because the high he got out of this was much more satisfying if he delivered the blows personally. That's why he liked to use the cane, the whip and the other tools besides his fists: to give a break to his sore hands.

Now, for that pretty boy, he had a lot of possibilities for inflicting pain with minimal effort, because that man had some injuries in his chest and abdomen, and a broken arm. So promising!

The masochistic psychopath smiled inwardly then, thinking about it, getting excited like a kid with a new toy.

AAAAA


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

Tia was glad they didn't tie her hands, or restrained her in any way, because she hoped that would give her the edge to escape. She sat on one of the lateral benches of the open-end truck, between two soldiers, with another one in front, aiming at her with his gun. Through the open read end, she could see the jeep that followed them, with Colonel Shu on the passenger's seat. The two Americans lay unconscious in the middle of the truck, at their feet. The soldiers had not bothered re-dressing the good-looking one, who was shivering, with his naked torso in contact with the cold, dirty metallic floor. His discarded shirt and jacket lay in a little heap, by his side.

"Aren't you going to put his clothes back on?" she asked in Vietnamese.

"No," said the soldier in front of her.

"Can I do it?"

"Why?"

"Because he is getting cold."

"And what do you care?"

"Maybe I shouldn't, but I feel sorry for the bastard, because he is injured. And, he won't last long to be useful to your Colonel if he gets pneumonia. Think about that."

"All right. Put his jacket on. No tricks," the soldier said, not willing to risk the Colonel's fury if that man died too soon. He tensed his finger on the trigger then, as he followed her every move.

She crouched by Face, trying to stay balanced while putting his shirt back on, as the truck was shaking badly while going over the bumpy dirt road. Half way through getting his arms in the jacket sleeves, she suddenly jumped up with a fast, unexpected move. Before any of the soldiers could react, she grabbed the top edge of the open end with both hands, and taking impulse over the tailgate with her feet, she pulled herself up with a back-flip, landing on top of the truck. By the time the soldier fired his gun, she was gone.

AAA

Colonel Shu could not believe his eyes. That woman had climbed up the truck effortlessly, in a flash, swinging like an agile monkey, landing on her feet at the truck's roof, and then she had jumped out, rolling over the ground, and disappeared into the jungle. Mad at her, he got his gun and fired all the bullets into the foliage. All the vehicles at the convoy stopped, and he ordered the soldiers to find her, but after a quick search, they gave up. She was nowhere to be seen, and she had left no clear tracks to follow.

"Who is responsible for this?"

"I'm sorry, Colonel," said the soldier that was aiming at her with his gun, stammering, terrified by the severe, angry look his C.O gave him. "She was too fast, I didn't have time to…"

In a whim, Colonel Shu lifted his gun and aimed at his face. The soldier went pale as a sheet, closing his eyes with a fearful grimace, until he heard the click of an empty gun, and a vicious laugh. He didn't find it funny at all.

"You should pay more attention, idiot! You are lucky I have no more bullets left, but you should have known that before you shit your pants. But don't get me wrong, Sergeant: you'll be punished for this, be sure of that." He turned to go back to the jeep then. "Come on, let's go! If that woman goes back to that village, she'll get caught again. We wasted too much time already."

The other soldiers sent empathetic looks at that shocked soldier before they went back to their positions. He climbed back to the truck slowly, walking as a man on death row. How could that nasty man get away abusing everybody around him, including his own troops? It was beyond his comprehension. He could be lying on the ground with a bullet in his head for real, and nobody would give a shit.

AAA

Murdock started to regain consciousness as the soldiers dragged him along a dark, long corridor. The first thing he registered was the pain in his injured shoulder as they pulled from his upper arms. Then, while trying to open his eyes to take in his surroundings, they stopped abruptly. He heard the familiar sound of rattling keys, and the creaking of a metal door opening, and suddenly, he hit the floor hard when they dumped him in a cell, groaning in pain as he landed on his left shoulder. Shortly after, he heard the noise of another body hitting the floor beside him. As he didn't hear a complain, he assumed that thud was his best friend, still unconscious, but he couldn't open his eyes fully yet to have a look at him, still fighting to get out of the dark zone himself, and clear his head.

"For fuck sake, look at the state of them two!" a distant voice said in English.

"Who are they? They look American."

"I don't know. Soldiers? Are they still capturing soldiers?"

"They don't have uniforms."

Murdock felt the touch of hands, turning him over, and he went mad, throwing wild, blind punches.

"Hey, hey, hey! Jeez, buddy, calm down! We are trying to help here!"

More hands joined the first two to restrain him, pinning him down on the floor, and then he opened his puffy eyes, looking furious.

"Hey, are you fully with us now?" a man hovering over him said, while slapping his face gently to wake him up. "We are trying to help you, man. Chill!"

"Who are you?" Murdock said, stopping the struggle, and the others soften their grip on him.

"Captain J.K Harlow, US Air Force. And you?"

"Captain H.M Murdock, US Army, Airbone Division."

"An Eagle of the 101st?" Harlow said, looking excited.

"Yes," Murdock said, blinking. They let go of him, and he took a hand to his aching, broken nose, groaning when he touched it. "Arrgh. That hurts."

"Cool! I'm a pilot too! These are Lieutenant R.P Scott and Major J.D Conley, US Army. Wow, guys, look at that! An Eagle!"

"Yes, an Eagle with a busted wing and beak… Jack, you should fix that nose," said one of the men in the background. Murdock looked at him, wondering what happened to his left eye, which was covered by an eye-patch.

"Yes. Captain Murdock, please, allow me. It will hurt like hell, but you'll feel much better afterwards. I promise. Don't worry, I've done this so many times, I'm an expert now." He helped Murdock to sit up, and asked the others to keep him still. "Hold him."

One of them held Murdock's arms while the other locked his head straight, supporting him from behind. Before he could complain, Harlow had grabbed his broken nose and moved it to the left, bringing it back to the centre with a loud, cracking noise, repositioning the fractured nasal bone. Murdock cried then, struggling to get away, but they held him down until he stopped, when he realized that man was right: it hurt like hell initially, but then he felt better.

"Thanks, I suppose."

"You are welcome. That split lip could do with a couple of stitches, but I don't have the right materials to do it."

They let go of Murdock again, and one of them had a closer look at Face.

"This pretty boy doesn't look good."

"Judging by the state of your face, I guess you had your first round with Colonel Shu," Harlow said, worried about how puffy and bruised Murdock's Face looked, and all the dry blood on his clothes. "And you lost."

"Yes, that son of a bitch broke my nose."

"What about your shoulder? Gunshot?" Harlow said, having a quick look.

"Yes. Through-hole. It bled a lot, but it's OK now. Unless that bastard pokes it."

"Give me a hand here, James. Let's take pretty boy to that bed," Scott said.

"His name is Face."

"Face? That suits him, but, has he got another name?" Scott said.

"Lieutenant Templeton Peck, Special Forces, also on the 101st Division. Be careful when you move him. He's got broken ribs, a broken arm, and abdominal injuries."

"Crickey, that psycho has been busy!" Harlow said, offering his hand to help Murdock up.

"We crashed a chopper. His injuries have nothing to do with the maniac. But he nearly drowned him."

"Yeah, that's more like him."

Face complained when they lifted him, groaning.

"He's coming round," Murdock said, pulling from Harlow's hand to stand up. When he faltered, feeling weak and dizzy again after the further blood lose, Harlow caught him.

"Hey, steady! Don't worry, I got you."

"How long have you been here for?"

"Me, since October 1972. The major has been here the longest, January 1971."

"Really?"

"What day is today?"

"5th June, 1986."

"What? No way! It can't be that long! You are lying!"

"No. Sorry. That's the date."

"Holy fuck! I have a little girl back home. She'd be a teenager now!" Harlow said, letting go of Murdock, pacing with his hands on his head and tears in his eyes. "Shit. We lost track of time here completely. I thought it would be eight or nine years at the most, not fourteen!"

As Murdock staggered towards his friend, the door burst open, and he stopped in his tracks when Colonel Shu broke into that room, followed by four armed soldiers, that fanned out, keeping a close eye on the prisoners, with their weapons aiming directly at them.

Murdock could see the instant panic on the face of the three American POWs, with an expression similar to the one Face had showed at the cellar. They quickly dropped to their knees, with their heads held down, avoiding eye contact with the colonel, totally submissive.

 _What the…?_

"On all fours!" Colonel Shu shouted, and the three American soldiers obeyed immediately, dropping on their hands and knees at once.

Murdock could not believe it. He looked at the POWs with his jaw dropped, amazed. They behaved like beaten up, mistreated dogs, cowering in a corner with their tails between their legs, leaking urine uncontrollably at the sight of their abusive owner. And it was clear that the mean, minute excuse of a human being, owned them.

 _Where's your dignity, guys? Stand up!_

"Why are you still standing?" Colonel Shu barked, right in front of Murdock. "On all fours! Now!"

Murdock looked at his rabid face from above as he was much taller, frozen by the puzzling situation, reluctant to follow suit. While he hesitated, Shu hit his abdomen hard with his cane, and while he bent forward in pain, the colonel smashed the top of his back with both fists held together, with a mighty wallop, with a force hard to believe he could deliver. Murdock fell to the floor, sprawled on all fours, as the mean commander had ordered, with the wind knocked out of him, having trouble to breathe. Then, the psycho Colonel walked between the other POWs on his way to Face, kicking two of them hard on the abdomen, whacking the other with the cane, leaving a wake of writhing, moaning bodies behind as he moved along.

"What about you, pretty boy?"

Face looked at him, blinking, still waking up, not fully aware of what was going on around him yet. Recognizing the man, he tried to control his visceral fear, but he still let through a gleam of horror in his blue, now wide-open eyes.

"Half dead already, ah?" Colonel Shu said, grabbing his collar to drag him off the hammered bed, lifting him up to dump him on the floor, were he collapsed, face down, hitting his battered torso and his broken arm hard. Other than the initial groan, he didn't have much time to complain about it, because the mean commander kicked his right side, hitting his already pummelled liver again. That tremendous blunt force over the already damaged organ, made Face passed out immediately with the shock, and he didn't feel the next blow: the stinging cane whacking his back.

Colonel Shu looked disappointed by the lack of writhing and moaning, so he grabbed Face by the hair and yanked his head up. Realizing he was already unconscious, he let out a disgruntled kind of snort and let go of his head, which hit the ground as a dead weight.

"American weaklings…" he said for the second time, shaking his head. "Now, you three, tell the new inmates the rules. Tell them that they'll soon learn what you all learned here: every man has his breaking point, and I will find theirs. And then, I'll own them. Tell them I give orders and you obey at once, like the dogs you are. Resistance is futile, so don't try my patience, because I don't have any. I'll be back later, and I expect full cooperation from them then."

As fast as he had come in, he left the room. The soldiers followed him, locking the door behind them. Slowly, the three battered American soldiers and Murdock struggled to their feet, all of them moaning in pain.

"What the hell was that?" Murdock said, holding onto his aching stomach, stumbling on the way to check on Face. " _Resistance is futile.._. Is he a Trekkie or what?"

"That's the psychopath that owns us. And he means it: he _owns_ us," Lieutenant Scott said, helping Murdock to place Face back on the bed.

"But, why did you…? Come on, guys… on your fours? Really?"

"You may think that we should be ashamed of our sheepish behaviour, but look, we were, really. For a long while. A long time ago," Major Conley said. "I can't believe it's been 15 years for me, but as the psycho said: he found our breaking point, years ago. We are broken now, and into survival mood. It is easier to do as he says. Otherwise is worse, much worse. We have all been there, where you are now, many times, too proud to humiliate yourself and do as he say, but it's not worth it, believe me. I can show you the scars to prove it. It's not only my eye he fucked up."

The major lifted his shirt, and Murdock gape at the state of him, firstly because he looked so thin and emaciated, with his ribs prominent under the skin, and secondly, because he had a myriad of ugly marks, new and old, all over his torso and back, from burns to cuts, bruises, whip marks and welts, and some other scars that God knows how they got there and what made them.

"I wish I could still show some defiance. But what he said is true: resistance is pointless."

"Futile. He said _futile._ Like the Borgs."

"What? Who?"

"Never mind. So, you've been locked up here since the war. Why didn't you get released when the war ended, in 1973?"

"See? I told you guys the war must have ended by now. It was absurd to think Charlie could put up a fight with the US for that long. Absurd," Scott said.

"What do you mean, _released_?" Conley said.

"All the POWs got released and returned to the US in the _Operation Homecoming_. Although many soldiers were not accounted for. Lots of MIA's."

"Do you mean we should have been home 13 years ago, and instead we are stuck here, in this shithole of a place, abused by that maniac? Is that what you mean?" Harlow said, losing it again, back to pacing. "Why the Government didn't ask for our safe return? What were the conditions imposed to the DVR and the Viet Cong?"

"Well… we didn't exactly "win" the war, so the US didn't impose that many conditions…"

"What?" the three of them said at the same time. "We lost?"

 _Oh, boy, this is going to take a long time on explanations_ , Murdock thought. _How much time do we have before that maniac returns?_

AAA

Tia sprained her ankle when she jumped out of the truck, but she got up quickly, ignoring the pain, and darted into the jungle. Bullets whizzed past her, but none of them hit her. She carried on running until she climbed up a tall tree, as easily as she had climbed the pipe when Murdock chased her, and waited there. From the top, she could see the soldiers coming and going, looking for a trail to follow, but they didn't find any. Luckily, none of them lifted their head once, or they could have spotted her.

After they left, she climbed down and started the long trek to go back to the village, hobbling on her sore ankle, but trying to cover the ground as fast as she could, as close to the road as possible. She had to check on Quang, and tell Hannibal and B.A before they'd get ambushed and taken to prison with the others.

AAA

While the three POWs digested the news about the war, and how their government and the US Army had left them behind, Murdock looked at them, wondering how could they look so "sane" after 15 years in a prison camp. He was in one of those for only 10 days back in the war and he had never recovered from the experience.

He was shocked by the way the POWs got on their knees before, but he understood it was all a survival strategy. And he could not blame these poor guys. They had done the best they could to adapt and keep on living under terrible conditions. But he didn't think he could do it. Or Face.

He sighed then, deeply. If Hannibal didn't hurry up to rescue them sooner this time, he could lose his marbles completely, and never return from la-la-land. Face had always been his anchor to reality, and at the moment, Murdock was making a huge effort to stay focused and grounded because he wanted to take care of him, but at any time he could retreat to his parallel world, and get lost in there, with the muffin man, the gingerbread man, and all their friends.

He sat opposite to Face, on the nearest bunk bed, and when he stirred, he was by his side in a moment.

"Hey, Facey. How are you doing?"

Face looked at him, blinking, weary and worn out, returning from the dark zone where he had hidden again to fight the pain; that glorious, welcoming, painless black cloud he loved so much.

"I'm OK," he said, unconvincingly. "And you?"

"Well, we can do the whole " _I'm OK, you're OK_ " routine if you want, Face, but the truth is, we both look like shit," Murdock said, combing his fringe back, glad to feel a normal temperature on his forehead. His words made Face chuckle a bit.

"I feel like shit too, not only look the part," Face said, grimacing, resenting his own laugh. "Where's Hannibal? How long is he going to take this time? Ten days again?"

"They should be still on the way to that village to get the car. It is a long trek to get there. They won't even know yet we've been captured."

"Great. What I needed to hear." Face licked his dry lips then, moaning when he shifted on the bed. "Can I have some water, please? And another shot of morphine, and better still, Quang can use his magic hands on me again. That was nice."

"Quang got badly beaten, remember? I don't even know if he's still alive."

"Yes, you're right. And Tia? Where's Tia?"

"I have no idea what happened to her. Sorry."

"Shit." Face didn't want to think about all the grim and disturbing possibilities of what could be happening to a woman under the circumstances, surrounded by male soldiers.

While Murdock went to get some water, Face had a quick look around.

"Where are we?" he asked when his friend returned with a glass.

"A military prison of sorts. Colonel Shu's playground."

"Shit."

Murdock helped him to drink, and carried on talking.

"Shit, indeed. And, you won't believe this: General Fulbright's excuse to bring us back to 'Nam is true. There are POWs locked in this place since the war, for real."

"What? No way!"

"Yes. Look at them."

Face looked at the three men at the other side of the cell. They looked shocked, lost in thought, and they didn't pay any attention to him at all, lost in their own mental reveries.

"I just told them we pulled out of Vietnam in 1973, and that the US Government ignored the complaints of the families demanding an investigation on what happened to the soldiers who had mysteriously disappeared in the system, and how the issue of the POWs became a political can of worms nobody wants to open."

"No wonder they look shell-shocked, the poor buggers. That's a lot to digest. Have they really been here for thirteen years, and they didn't know?"

"A bit longer. And they didn't even know which date is today, no. Let alone what happened in the outside world since 1973."

Suddenly, they heard the key on the lock. When Colonel Shu re-appeared on that cell, the five men had a similar expression on their face: one of pure terror.

AAAAA


	8. Chapter 8

_**A.N – I said at the beginning I didn't think the scenes of torture in this story would be too bad… Well, it wasn't my intention, but, it happened. I got carried away. Sorry. I love realistic details too much to skim over it quickly. IMO, if something is not worth telling in detail, is not worth telling at all.**_

 _ **WARNING: this chapter has an**_ _ **M - RATING**_ _ **due to the level of detail in the torture scenes and the out-of-control swearing all over. No sexual abuse/rape. Don't read unless you are over 16.**_

 _ **As MissEclipse said in her nice review, this isn't a story for the faint-hearted. And yes, no sugar-coating whatsoever. Although, this is a long chapter, because I wanted to finish it off with a bittersweet, tender scene, rather than at the disturbing suffering if I split it in two.**_

 _ **Thanks to all the readers who showed an interest in this story, and specially to those who said something about it. Please, take a little bit of time to review if you can, silent readers. Much appreciated, thank you.**_

 **Chapter 8**

Face didn't want to be taken first for interrogation, but he didn't want that bastard taking Murdock either. He was amazed about how strong that scatterbrain seemed to be this time, keeping a cool head and not skipping to his alternative reality every five minutes, as he always did under pressure, his excuse to be unreliable. Not this time.

As Face was unconscious when it happened, he didn't know it was precisely Murdock's breakout from reality to see the muffin man what had caused the Colonel's rage and the pounding that had resulted in a broken nose and the black, puffy eyes. Murdock's face looked so bad that, when the psycho pointed at Face with his cane and barked the word "him", he was terrified, but oddly glad at the same time, because he wanted to spare Murdock the abuse until Hannibal and B.A would get them out of there. He only needed to hold on for a few more hours, and he would be on his way to the US and a hospital full of gorgeous nurses only too keen to leave their phone numbers. In only a few more hours. Only. A few. _Hours_. The other guys had been there for 14 years! Sure he could hold on for a few more hours.

He held onto that thought when two soldiers rough-handled him, dragging him out of the bed, while another one aimed at Murdock's chest with his automatic rifle when he tried to get on the way.

"Leave him alone!" Murdock cried.

As they dragged him away, Face turned his head to send him a _"don't worry, everything is going to be alright"_ look, but, when that soldier hit Murdock's abdomen with the rifle's butt, and then the side of his head, rendering him unconscious, his look turned into a _"what the fuck?"_ one, and he started to struggle as well, insulting them.

"You, fucking bastards!"

"Didn't your mates teach you that _resistance is futile_? Because that's the first lesson," Colonel Shu said, with a sadistic smile. "Don't hit him, or the sucker will fall unconscious again. He has used that trick too many times already."

The soldiers ignored Face's weak and ineffective attempts of resistance and dragged him out of the cell while the other POWs tended for Murdock.

They took Face to a room nearby and tugged off his jacket and shirt before they sat him with his back resting against a thick wooden post, fastening leather straps around his neck, ankles, and his good arm, restraining him tightly against the post. Leaving his left arm lose was a worrying sign that gave him an idea of what was about to happen.

 _Not the broken arm, you son of a bitch!_ he thought, tugging at the restrains.

After seeing Murdock hit the floor, all his fear and apprehension had turned into rage, hatred, and defiance. Something that would not go down well with Shu, but he couldn't help it: he hated his guts now. He could only hope he would pass out with the first blow, to slip back into the dark zone. His greatest "trick", as that psycho put it. But first, he would give him a piece of his mind.

"You cannot break those bonds, so don't waste time and effort trying. Don't be so stupid," Colonel Shu said, wandering in front of him, hitting his palm lightly and repeatedly with the cane, enjoying the moment.

"I'm blond. What's your excuse?"

Fast as a cobra, Shu whacked the side of his head with the cane, but Face swallowed his cry, because he was determined not to give the psycho the satisfaction of his pain.

"So, that didn't hurt, did it?" Shu said, with his hideous smile. "What about this one?"

He whacked him again with the cane, with a reverse blow that hit his already badly bruised cheek, drawing blood.

"Nope… That one didn't hurt either," Face managed to say, with a trembling, high-pitched, thin voice tinged with pain, but he still didn't cry out.

"You know what is going to hurt, don't you? And it will hurt _a lot_ ," he said, dragging his words, tapping lightly on the splint with his cane, and then over the dressings covering his ribs and the abdominal wound. "So, why do you even try to antagonize me? You are going to scream like a frightened, hysterical little girl soon, asking for mercy, so… why do it? Why do you have to be so irritating?"

"Aaaaah… maybe because I wasn't born with enough middle fingers to let you know how I really feel about you, and I can only give you a hint," he said, lifting his broken arm to give him the only middle finger he had available then.

"Witty… I like it," Shu said, nodding, showing a sinister, vile smile, while apparently ignoring that provocation. "Now, before I start, tell me: why are you here, and where are the other two?"

Face stared at him with his middle finger still up. Instead of answering, he looked at his finger, to make his point, and then back at Shu. And that was the last time he could keep his cool.

AAA

"Man, why did you get on the way? Didn't we say it is better not to show resistance or defiance?" Harlow said when Murdock came to, after they poured water on his face. "They gave you a good wallop."

"Shit. My head," Murdock said, taking a hand to the bleeding gash, making contact with Scott's hand, as he was holding a piece of cloth against it, to stop the haemorrhage. "Where is Face? Where did they take him?"

"I guess they took him to the _joy room_ , as we call it," Scott said. "It's not far from this cell. But I guess Shu hasn't started yet, because we haven't heard any screams."

"Face is very good at holding back."

"Guys, you are not listening!" Major Conley said, looking anxious. "Doing that will only get that psycho mad! He thrives on causing pain. If you don't give him what he wants, in the form of loud signs of agony, he'll try a million times harder. It is suicide!"

"Oh, my God. Don't say that, please. Face can't help himself when he's angry, and he will be after what they did to me. He'll annoy the hell out of that psychopath with his snappy comebacks until he beats the crap out of him and he can no longer talk!" Murdock said, fretting. _Shit, Face. Keep your mouth shut for once in your life!_

AAA

Colonel Shu left the cane on a table and grabbed a sharp, hunting knife. Face swallowed hard when he put that knife in contact with his abdomen, with the pointy end resting lightly on his skin, below the bandage. For a split second he thought the psycho was going to stab him and slit him open, like a carcass, spreading his guts all over the place, but then he realized that would be too fast and easy. That guy wanted to see him suffer, not kill him quickly. Not yet, anyway.

Instead of goring him, Shu pushed the knife flat under the dressings, and then, with a flick of his wrist, he ripped them off, revealing the wounds.

"Oh, look at that… Did that healer stitched this up?" he said, picking at the stitches one by one with the sharp end of the knife, re-opening the stabbing wound. "What a shame. He did a good job."

He grabbed the fractured arm then, also ripping off the dressings that held the splint in place, and threw the pieces of wood on the floor. He let go of the arm, and left the knife back on the table.

"So, where should I start? Do you want to choose, or should I pick for you?"

"You know, right now I'm so jealous of all the people who never had the pleasure to meet you, arsehole," Face said, with hatred filling up his blue eyes, but with an edge in his voice that could not totally mask his fear.

"I bet you are," Shu said, pressing hard over the dark bruise below the sternum, grinding his fist over it, sinking it on the broken ribs, enjoying how Face grimaced, closing his eyes, tensing his whole body, only moaning softly through gritted teeth, still unwilling to give in. "I've got the feeling you are going to tell me this doesn't hurt either, aren't you?"

Face held his breath, turning red and shaking, and he still managed to nod slightly before he passed out.

"No, no, no, that's cheating... Wake him up!"

A soldier approached Face with a vial of ammonia and waved it under his nose. He jerked his head immediately to get away from that strong, vile smell, instantly awake. The psycho grabbed his hair with his right hand, pulling his head up straight, banging it on the wooden post.

"I won't let you cheat this time, you know?" Shu said, enjoying the way his victim was hyperventilating and panicking. "I'll continue with an easy question: who are you?"

Face carried on panting, with his eyes darting around the room, but he didn't answer. Then, he gasped in pain when the maniac plunged his left middle finger inside his abdominal wound, prodding to find his way in. Face tried to stop him from digging deeper by using his unrestrained left hand, but Shu let go of his hair to catch the broken arm with his right hand, right over the fractured bones, adding to the agony as he thrusted in the wound repeatedly, in every direction, trying to find the trajectory of the stabbing object, whatever it was.

"This is how I give middle fingers, ARSEHOLE!" the psycho shouted, as a delayed reaction to the provocations.

Face made some guttural, gurgly noises while shaking, but he still held onto the cry Shu wanted to hear.

"The cane," Colonel Shu said. He withdrew his finger from the wound and waited with his left hand extended, while still holding Face's left arm, until the soldier passed him the cane. "You've been very brave so far. Impressive effort, but I think this would be it."

Knowing the trajectory of that wound now, he rammed the cane inside then, hard and deep. Finally, Face gave up, and his chilling cry could be heard all over the prison.

AAA

"It's taking too long. Maybe that psycho took him somewhere else and we can't hear him," Harlow said. Scott and Conley shrugged their shoulders, also listening, but they could not hear anything.

Right then, they all cringed when that desperate, agonizing scream pierced the air.

"Son of a bitch!" Murdock cried, running to the door, banging on it as he used swear words freely as never before, losing it. "What have you done to him, motherfuckers! Fucking bastards!"

"Stop it!" Harlow said, following him to the door. "You can't help him, and this can only make matters worse!"

"Fucking arseholes! Leave him alone!"

Harlow tried to get hold of his hands, to stop him, but Murdock managed to get free and carried on banging on the door. The other two POWs joined them at the door.

"You'll make it worse not only for you, but for all of us!" Scott said, also trying to restrain him, but Murdock started hitting them blindly, screaming mad like the raving lunatic he sometimes was. "This guy is mental! Look at him, no wonder they called the 101st the _Screaming Eagles_ if they all howled like him!"

"I'm sorry we have to do this," Major Conley said while he covered Murdock's sore mouth with his hand to muffle his cries, holding his injured arm behind his back to restrain him. Between the three of them, they dragged Murdock away from the door and pinned him on the floor, where he still struggled, trying to kick them and hit them, screaming under the major's hand, trying to bite it.

"Stop it or I'll knock you out cold!" Scott said, with his fist held high in front of his face, but Murdock didn't seem to be listening. "This guy needs a goddam straitjacket!"

"Listen, pal, your friend is not screaming anymore! Can you hear that?" Harlow said, a bit more sympathetic. "Bless him, he must have fainted, whatever delightful thing that psycho was doing to him."

Murdock calmed down for a moment, but when the agonizing cries started again, he withdrew to his inner world, going limp, and his only reaction were the thick tears he started to shed, which ran down from his zoned-out eyes.

"I'm telling you, this guy is cuckoo," Scott said, releasing his grip on him. "Totally bonkers. Why is he crying now?"

AAA

Back in the dark zone, Face didn't want to wake up. Not at all. Not this time. Less than ever. However, the irritant smell of the ammonia forced him to go back to the land of the living against his will, one more time.

He gasped again when he came to, whimpering when he saw and felt that cane sticking out of his abdomen.

"Welcome back! Why do you always have to cheat? Your old trick won't work anymore, because I'll always bring you back. Now, are you ready to admit this really hurts, if only a little?" Colonel Shu said, displaying his heinous grin, touching the end of the cane lightly, so it disturbed the other end, wobbling inside Face's abdomen. He gasped again, making an odd sound, that maybe resembled a "yes".

"I didn't hear that. What did you say? Louder, please, or…" Shu said, pressing a bit harder on the cane.

"Yes!" Face cried then, not panting anymore, tensing his whole body and holding still to avoid causing any further movement of the cane, shocked by the pain.

"Excellent! We are finally making progress here... Now, back to basics: who are you?"

As he still didn't answer, the psycho shook the cane, making Face scream again at the top of his lungs, but he didn't faint this time because the soldier kept waving the vial with ammonia under his nose from time to time, keeping him awake and in agony.

"No, you are getting it all wrong… I already got your screams, and now I need your answers: who are you, what are you doing in Vietnam, and where are your friends."

He carried on shaking the cane, digging deeper, enjoying the way his victim screamed his head off in agony, because once that Face had started, he couldn't stop. After a while, Shu slid the cane out with a fast move. It was bloodstained, and more fresh blood was oozing from the wound. Face stopped screaming, exhausted, moaning with his head dangling forward, choking with the strap that held his neck.

"Look what you made me do: a bloody mess," the psycho said, wiping the cane clean on Face's trousers, also cleaning his still bloody finger. "And I don't like making a mess. I'll have to punish you for this, you know?"

If Face had remotely thought nothing could hurt more than what he had just endured with that cane, he was mistaken. The psycho colonel took his broken arm, and started to apply opposing forces to the fragments, pulling and pushing slowly, disarranging the bones out of line. That sharp, continuous, excruciating pain shot through his arm and into his brain, exploding there. Face would have passed out a thousand times, while that evil bastard grinded the bones, rubbing them against each other and against the nerves, blood vessels, tendons, muscles, and all the tissues that screamed individually at his brain for the torture to stop by passing out, but the soldier kept the vial of ammonia close to his nose almost permanently now, and he wasn't allowed to cheat that unbearable pain. Instead, part of his brain dissociated from the ordeal, and he could hear the spine-chilling screams as if he wasn't him who was yelling but someone else, entirely different, engulfed as he was by the pain, shutting down all the other senses.

Then, the psycho held the arm still for a moment, giving his victim a little break. Face stopped screaming, but continued panting, sweating and whimpering mad, as a woman at the height of labour. When he opened his eyes to look at his arm, he was horrified by the vision of the broken bones bulging under the skin, but not breaking through it yet. _Yet_.

"Let's try again. Who are you?"

"Lieutenant… T.A… Peck… US… Army," Face caved in, dropping words while panting.

"See? It wasn't that difficult, was it? Now, why are you here, Lieutenant Peck?"

"Holidays," Face said, at random, just to say something. Shu got hold of the arm firmly again, but as he started to press, Face begged for him to stop.

"Please, stop! Don't do that again, please! Don't!"

"Look at that… We got to the begging part now. Wonderful! So, you are here on holidays… And where are your friends, then? The man with the white hair and the black, big guy? Did they go to the beach, or to buy some ice-cream?"

"I don't know! I swear I don't know where they are!" Face cried, as Shu pressed a bit harder.

"I think you do," Shu said, grinding the bones against each other again.

"No, please, no! Aaargh!"

Face carried on screaming mad while the psycho moved his floppy arm up and down, using the fracture site like a loose hinge.

"You are not showing me the finger anymore, are you?!" the heinous psychopath roared then, after all that time curbing his anger, only showing a deceiving contempt to the insults that had instigated such a wicked pay-back. "Come on, arsehole, try! Show me that little finger again, if you dare, motherfucker!"

In the end, he jerked the arm so hard the jagged end of the fractured radius pierced the skin at the top. Face vomited and then passed out, for the umpteenth time, and despite the attempts of the soldier to wake him up with the ammonia, he didn't respond to it anymore.

"This is not working anymore," the soldier said in Vietnamese. He checked Face's pulse on his neck then, just in case. "But he is still alive."

"Never mind. Sod it. I am getting bored now," Colonel Shu answered, also in his language, while using his victim's trousers to wipe off the vomit spattered on his shoes.

He let go of the arm, which dangled loose, with an awkward shape and angle, with blood dripping slowly from that open wound on the skin.

"Take him back to the cell," he ordered, delivering one last punch to his victim's face, just because.

 _That felt so damn good!_ he thought as he left the "joy room", as the POWs called it, heading for his quarters, as relaxed and satisfied as someone who had just banged somebody. Not just once, but twice.

AAA

"What the hell is that maniac doing? This is taking too long. That guy should have fainted by now," Captain Harlow said.

"Ammonia," Scott said.

"Oh, yes. There is that," Harlow said. "He hasn't used it on me for years."

The three POWs kept quiet then, all of them thinking about their own harrowing experiences at the _joy room._ But the screaming was definitely taking too long this time.

"I can't stand it. And neither can he," Harlow said, pointing at Murdock. The _Screaming Eagle_ pilot sat on the floor against the wall now, no longer zoned-out, with his index fingers blocking his ear canals, trying to muffle the horrific sounds, with his head resting on his knees, rocking to and fro.

"Maybe that lieutenant is a wimp, and he's screaming his head off for nothing," Major Conley said.

"I don't know, James. He has a broken arm, and he was on the Special Forces," Harlow said, always more sympathetic than the other two, more hardened POWs. "And his cries are… something else. Hair-raising. It gives me the creeps."

When the screams stopped, they waited expectantly for the soldiers to bring that abused man back. When they did, the soldiers let go of him and dropped him on his face by the door, tossing his clothes inside the cell too, muttering in Vietnamese how disgusting it was to carry a man covered in sickness, and they left quickly.

Murdock jumped to his feet and ran to his friend's side.

"Don't touch him!"

The others gave him some space while he slowly turned him over.

"Oh, my God! Face, what have they done to you?" Murdock cried, with tears in his eyes, when he saw the state of him. He stood up by the door then, banging on it again. "Bastards! You should keep to the Geneva Convention rules! This man needs medical attention! At least bring me some bandages!"

"Shut up!" the guards said, laughing it off.

Murdock kneeled by Face then, not knowing where to start. He got hold of his arm, which dangled at a funny angle, with a small portion of the bone sticking out, wishing Hannibal was there to fix it again. But, as he wasn't, he started to pull from the wrist, trying to re-align the bones, with his vision blurred by the torrent of tears that ran down his face.

Harlow wanted to help him, but he heaved with the stench of the sickness and the sight of that arm. He had to run to the small basin and toilet they had in a corner of the room, to empty his stomach there.

"Damn. That psycho has outdone himself this time," Major Conley said, grabbing an already dirty towel to clean up the sickness on Face's torso and trousers.

As they tended for him with the few items they had available in that cell, a sergeant sporting a black eye and a bruised mouth appeared at the door, carrying a bowl of warm water, clean towels, dressings, a bottle of antiseptic, and the pieces of wood that Shu had discarded on the floor.

"Use this," he said, giving all the items to Scott.

"Thank you. What happened to your eye? Don't tell me you also had a close encounter with Shu's fist."

The soldier gave him an odd look, but didn't say anything, closing the door again.

"What about antibiotics, and morphine?" Scott cried, but the soldier was gone.

"This wound was healing, it had stitches on," Murdock said, looking at the open, bleeding wound in his abdomen. "Why is that open and bleeding again? What the hell has that maniac done to him?"

It took them a while to clean Face, treat his wounds, and dress them. Murdock had done his best to realign the bones, re-applying the splint, and had got the large cloth from the pocket in his jacket to use it as a sling again. During that process Face was unresponsive, looking pale as a sheet with the shock, feeling cold to the touch. Now with his clothes back on, he was still hypothermic.

"I'll lie with him to warm him up," Murdock said.

They carried Face to a bed, and Murdock wedged between him and the cold wall, holding him tight against his warm body, with his arm protectively around him, trying not to disturb any of his injures, specially the arm.

"Everything's gonna be alright, Facey. Hold on. Hannibal will get us out of this shithole in no time at all," Murdock said, stroking his hair gently. He kissed his head and started crying again. "You've done great, hold on."

The other three looked at Murdock as he carried on crying and pointlessly soothing the unconscious man who could not hear him, feeling sorry for him.

"Who's Hannibal?" Harlow said.

"Who knows," Scott said, and then he frowned, pulling a disgusted face. "They… they… Do they love each other? Are they a couple? I mean… just look at them!"

"Maybe. Who cares?" Conley said. "Look, I've been thinking. After this, I don't think I can take any more of this shit. 15 years waiting with the hope that someone would get us out of here and I could see my family again... But that's not going to happen, if what that fool said is true. We have to escape, and we'll have to do it on our own."

"You lost one eye the last time you tried to escape," Harlow said.

"I know. But I don't have hope anymore. That little bubble of hope that we would get released at the end of the war got burst today. I'll give it another try. Who's with me?"

"Me," Scott said.

"Yeah, me too," Harlow said. "Do you have a plan?"

"Not yet, but we'll have plenty of time to think on one," he said, lying on his bed, as it was getting dark and the guards never put the lights on in that cell. "I don't want to get another scar in my body, if I can help it."

AAA

Face woke up a few hours later, in the dark. His whole body ached, and he wanted to cry, but then, he noticed the warm body in contact with his back, and the arm around him, embracing him. Disgusted with the thought that the psycho had also taken him to bed to sodomize him, he wriggled, rolling on his side, trying to get away from that evil man, but the bed was so narrow he fell over the side, groaning when he hit the floor, adding to his misery.

"Face! Face!" Murdock cried when he heard that loud thud, waking up quickly, as he had only nodded off for the last twenty minutes. He felt the bed anxiously, but he wasn't there, although he could hear him moaning. "Where are you?" he said while adjusting his eyes to the faint moonlight that came through the small window.

"Murdock? Is that you?"

"Yes! Shit. Did you fall off the bed?" Murdock said, getting up.

"I'll help you," Harlow said. He was the only one who got awaken by the thud, as the others carried on snoring, still fast asleep. "Come on, guy, let's get you back on that bed."

"I'm cold," Face said, shaking when they got him back up.

"I know. You are in shock. That's why I was keeping you warm. This blanket is too thin," Murdock said, lying by Face again, but on the other side now, leaving him close to the wall this time, so he would not fall off the bed again. "Thanks, Harlow."

"You are welcome," he said, returning to his bed.

Face was shivering so much now, the whole rickety bed was shaking, and he was moaning and whining in pain.

"I got you, Face. I got you."

Murdock covered them both with the blanket, and passed his arm over him again, taking his hand. Face held onto his friend's warm hand, squeezing it.

"Back at the POW camp, ah?" he said, with a faltering whisper.

"Yes. And I'm so sorry for this. So sorry."

"It hurts," Face said, tensing his body, moaning and hissing, squeezing Murdock's hand a bit harder.

"I know. Hold on. You couldn't keep your mouth shut, could you?"

"No. When that soldier hit you, I blew a fuse. Are you OK?"

"Yes, I'm all right. It's you I'm worried about," Murdock said, hugging him tighter, because Face could not stop shaking. He placed his other hand on his forehead, and it was getting hot, despite him complaining of cold.

"When that psycho asked for me, I thought you would be fine. But I was mistaken. I'm sorry."

"Don't be silly. What else could you do? Nothing. The same I could do nothing to stop that bastard hitting you."

"I asked B.A to shoot me if I ever had to be back in a POW camp. He promised me he would, but he wasn't there to keep that promise."

"Please, don't say that. The big guy could not shoot you, ever."

"He should have. This hurts even more than the first time."

"I bet it does, because you didn't have a broken arm back then. What did that son of a bitch do with the wound in your abdomen? What happened to the stitches?"

"He shoved his fucking cane in there!" Face shouted then, enraged.

"What? The cane? Jesus! Is that why it's bleeding again?"

"I'm going to kill that bastard!" Face cried, growling. He was breathing heavily now, with the combined effort of talking and breathing, and the overwhelming anger and hatred that consumed him. And the harder he breathed, the more he complained, gasping, moaning and groaning, until he started whimpering, weeping like a hurt child.

"Calm down. Try to relax, or it will hurt even more. And don't cry, please. You know I can't stand it if you cry," he said, letting go of his friend's hand for a moment to wipe the tears off his face, ignoring his own.

"Sing to me as you did before, please."

"A lullaby, you mean?"

"Yes."

"OK."

Murdock held Face's hand again and started to sing his special version of _All the pretty little horses,_ with a soothing, captivating and velvety, deep tone of voice, close to Face's ear.

 _Hush-a-bye don't you cry,  
Go to sleep, my little Facey.  
When you wake you shall have  
All the pretty little ladies.  
Blondes and reds, and brunettes,  
All the pretty little ladies._

Face laughed then, and instantly tensed again, holding tight onto Murdock's hand, groaning.

"Please, don't make me laugh! I can't even take that now!"

"Sorry, forgive me. I'm so sorry. I thought you'd like that version, but you are right: this is no time for pretty ladies, or laughs. Should I switch back to little horses then?"

"Sing the other. The _Golden Slumbers._ That's my favourite."

"Yeah, mine too. And it also suits you, my pretty darling."

 _Golden slumbers kiss your eyes,  
Smiles await you when you rise._

 _Sleep, pretty Facey, do not cry,  
And I will sing a lullaby.  
_  
 _Cares you know not, therefore sleep,  
While over you a watch I'll keep.  
Sleep, pretty darling, do not cry,  
And I will sing a lullaby.  
_

"That's nice, thank you. I like hearing your voice, and knowing you'll watch over me," Face said, calming down, reducing his respiratory rate, squeezing Murdock's hand a bit again.

"You always do the same for me."

"I wish I could spare you any pain tomorrow."

"Hannibal will be here by then."

"God, how much I hope so!"

"Relax now. I'll sing until you fall asleep, OK?"

"Thank you."

Murdock sang the same song over and over, like an endless disc, rocking his body a bit against his, until Face relaxed, stopped moaning, and fell asleep.

" _I love you_ ," Murdock whispered then, kissing his friend's head, and he fell asleep shortly after, exhausted.

AAA

Harlow stayed awake after Murdock stopped singing. He had been listening to their exchange with interest, and he liked their relationship. They almost looked like a gay couple in love, as Scott had pointed out, but he didn't think that was the case. Their relationship was different, deeper, and more meaningful.

Scott, Conley, and he, had been together in that prison for too many years, and during that time they had fallen out many times. They always helped each other, and cared for each other, and the bond they had forged through the years was special, but not so much as the bond these other guys had. He knew that, under any other more normal circumstances, he would have never become friends with Scott or Conley, because they were too different. So, he was jealous of the new inmates and their loving, special friendship.

Damn, how much he would have loved having someone singing lullabies to comfort him when he was hurt!

AAAAA


	9. Chapter 9

_**A.N – The other day I watched the episode "Till death us do part". I found it funny (and slightly annoying too) because at the end they crash the helicopter, and everybody gets something broken, all wearing a cast except BA, because as Amy said, "he didn't tense on impact". I wasn't aware of that helicopter crash when I wrote mine in chapter one, and it was exactly the same: BA is the one who doesn't get hurt because he was off already, haha. So, it is good to come up with stuff which is already in the show. But now it makes me wonder if I should stop writing and watch them all before I continue, or my "Hannibal plan" may be already in another episode somewhere… Oh, well. It's going to take me ages to watch them all, and I don't have the time. I think I'll risk it.**_

 _ **Bummer. It somehow feels as if the "A Team" episodes are copying my "A Team fanfiction", and not the other way around! Oops.**_

 _ **Now, Hannibal is**_ **on the jazz** _ **… Beware, suckers! LOL**_

 **Chapter 9**

Hannibal and B.A finally arrived at Nghῖa Nhơn in the late afternoon. They didn't see any suspicious military activity in that larger village, and that bothered Hannibal, who wasn't sure if that was a good or a bad sign, because the jazz vibes he had been getting all day were of the worrying kind.

They found the petrol station, the perfect place to steal a vehicle with a full tank of fuel, and while they waited for a suitable one, Hannibal helped himself to a road map of the area at the shop.

Business was slow at that station, and they had to wait nearly half an hour for a man in a tatty white van to ask for a full tank. When he got into the shop after re-fuelling, leaving the keys in the ignition, it took Hannibal and B.A seconds to be on their way, back to the dirt road and Quang's house.

"That was easy!" B.A said, smiling behind the wheel.

"Yes. But this area is like a mousetrap," Hannibal said while studying the map. "There is only one way out now: to go South for many miles to connect to the main road at the coast, that will eventually take us back up through Da Nang and Hue. And what we want is to go North, as quickly as possible. Unless we come back to Nghῖa Nhơn using the same dirt road, and I don't think that would be a good idea."

"Whatever you say, Hannibal. You are the man with the plan, and with the map."

"Well, at least we got a map now, and a van. Little steps, ah?" he said, folding the map.

AAA

Tia was struggling, limping her way back to the village, as fast as she could go, trying to get there before Hannibal and B.A arrived with the car.

When she finally reached the village in the evening, she wanted to check on Quang, but she couldn't risk getting caught again. The soldiers had moved and hidden all their vehicles out of the way, but she could still spot them, although it would be too late for Hannibal and B.A if they went that far into the village, because by the time they'd realize, they would be trapped.

Avoiding the soldiers, she moved along the jungle, parallel to the road, for a further mile up, to wait for the Americans. Luckily, not many cars used that road at all, so when she saw that white van approaching, she knew it had to be them.

AAA

"Look. That's Tia," Hannibal said when he saw her coming into the dirt road from the jungle.

"What's she doin' there?"

"Something's wrong."

B.A stopped the van and Hannibal jumped out quickly. Tia looked exhausted, panting and out of breath, and he helped her to stay up, holding her by her upper arms.

"Tia, what happened? What are you doing here? Trouble with the soldiers?"

She nodded, still catching her breath.

"They got your friends. They are watching the house to capture you too."

Hannibal closed his eyes for a moment, cursing to himself. He knew something like that had happened. He had felt it all day, the _bad jazz_ , that unsettling sensation that told him shit would hit the fan at any moment.

"Are you hurt?"

"I twisted my ankle, but I escaped. They didn't touch me, but they beat your friends up and took them away. I don't know where. They also beat Quang badly. I wanted to check on him, but the soldiers are lurking."

"How many?"

"I don't know. About a dozen or so, hopefully less. I saw two of them by the road, hiding, keeping guard."

"And we only have a pistol and a knife… We'll have to fish them out one by one, B.A. How far is the village?"

"Less than a mile from here."

"All right. Come one, B.A, leave the van here. We are walking."

AAA

When Hannibal sneaked behind one of the two soldiers on guard by the road, he couldn't help but thinking of the Rambo films again, when he takes down a large number of soldiers on his own, one by one, after hiding in the shadows, under water, in the foliage, under a mud wall... This whole fiasco was getting more and more like a bad B-movie, and he could only hope they could pull through in the end, against the odds, like one of those Hollywood heroes.

At once, they jumped on the soldiers. B.A had no problem in breaking his soldier's neck quickly and silently, angry as he was because they had taken his friends, but Hannibal struggled with his target a bit. In the end, he covered his mouth and pressed with his arm on his throat, while he tried to get away from his grip, until he stopped breathing. Hannibal didn't feel like killing those soldiers, but he couldn't see any other way of reducing them quickly and efficiently, before they raised the alarm. Besides, they were the enemy, and he had killed hundreds of them during the war, so it was a bit late now to grow a conscience about them, when they would not hesitate on killing him if they had the chance.

After taking all their weapons, they looked for the next ones, while hiding in the shadows, as it was already getting dark. In a similar way, they quietly neutralized another four soldiers that were watching the house, and another one keeping guard on the vehicles. That way, they ended up with a few guns and rifles, a couple of light machine guns, a heavy one mounted in one of the army vehicles, and plenty of ammo.

"At least we got a few babies now," B.A said, taking one of the machine guns, stroking the top gently and lovingly as if it was, indeed, a little baby.

"Let's get into the house," Hannibal said.

Carrying that weapon, B.A kicked the bamboo front door open and walked in, followed by Tia.

"Freeze! Don't move!" she shouted in Vietnamese.

Three soldiers were in the main room. They stood still, not trying to use their weapons, but when another soldier came firing from the other room, Hannibal shot him down with his assault rifle, after entering the house through the back door. Then, he approached the soldiers, who stood still with his hands up, and one by one he knocked them out by hitting their head with the rifle's butt.

Tia kneeled at Quang's side. He was still lying close to the door, semiconscious.

"Help me, please," she said, calling Hannibal.

Hannibal helped her to take Quang to the cot Face had been lying on. Then, he went to the other room to check the cellar. He knew they were gone, but, until he saw it for himself, Hannibal didn't want to acknowledge the fact the soldiers had taken Murdock and Face for real. While focusing on neutralizing the soldiers, he didn't allow himself to think about the implications fully, but when he saw the empty cellar, he lost it.

"Damn it! We shouldn't have left them here on their own, wounded and without the means to protect themselves! I knew something like this could happen!" Hannibal shouted, going mad, pacing the hut like a tiger on a cage. "I shouldn't have gambled with this! I let them both down before, and I never forgave myself for that, ever. Not again! Shit!"

Back on their 'Nam days, B.A knew how upset and guilty the colonel had felt during those long ten days, before they could rescue Face and Murdock from the POW camp. The pair got separated from the main group during an ambush, and they disappeared into the jungle without a trace. First, they had to locate them, because by the time they found their small base camp in the area, the Viet Cong had already moved the prisoners to a larger prison camp further away, and then, they couldn't go in until all the logistics for the rescue operation were in place and Colonel Morrison gave them the green light to go ahead. That delay drove Hannibal up the walls with the impotence he felt, and by the time they managed to rescue them, the sorry state they found them in, specially Face, didn't help to settle his guilty conscience.

Now, recalling the promise he had made to Face, and how scared his friend looked about the possibility of falling prisoner again, B.A's heart sank. Instead of trying to calm Hannibal down, he went mad himself.

"I let them down, not you! I promised Face he'd never be back in a fuckin' POW camp! Aaargh!" he cried, smashing the bamboo rocker against the hard floor, losing it completely.

Witnessing that explosive outburst, helped Hannibal to snap out of his own madness.

"Calm down, Sergeant. Smashing things won't help, as much as I also want to break something myself."

"Face asked me to shoot him if he ever had to go back to one of those camps! And now that son of a bitch has them! And you saw what he did to General Fulbright! He beat him up and burned his face with a red-hot knife!"

Hannibal swallowed hard, remembering Face's injuries. He also wanted to smash something, but having one visceral, raving mad, blinded by hatred and worry, member of the team, was enough. They didn't need two. He had to put his feelings to a side and use his head, because he had to think of a plan to find them, get them out of there, and out of that disgraceful country as soon as possible. And in one piece. No more cock-ups.

AAA

Hannibal focused his attention on helping Tia with Quang while B.A tied and gagged the three unconscious soldiers. The healer looked barely alive, unresponsive and hypothermic. Hannibal rummaged through the medical supplies to give him a shot of morphine, anti-inflammatory painkillers, and antibiotics. They cleaned all his wounds and applied the ointment Quang had used on Hannibal's ribs, and he also used a bit more on himself and on Tia's swollen ankle, applying a support bandage on it.

"How is he? Will he make it?" B.A asked when he finished dealing with the soldiers.

"I don't know what else we could do for him, other than warm him up a bit. If he had more fluids left, I could try to set up an IV line, but there is no point."

They moved the cot close to the kitchen fire and used all the blankets they could find to cover him up.

"B.A, bring one of the soldiers to the chair. We have to find out where they took them."

In a similar way they had done to Murdock and Face, they poured a bucket of cold water over that man's head to wake him up.

"Wake up, sucker!" B.A shouted, slapping him.

"Hello. Do you speak English?" Hannibal said when the soldier woke up, struggling with the rope bonding his hands to the chair, behind his back. As he didn't reply, Hannibal tried again. "Do you speak English?"

The soldier just looked at him with hatred, but he didn't say anything, even less when B.A delivered a hard blow to his face, from the side, cutting his cheek with his rings.

"Answer'im!"

"Tia, can you ask him nicely, please?"

Tia tried to talk to him in Vietnamese, and the soldier replied shouting, looking mad.

"What did he say?"

"Basically, he said he's not going to tell shit to a half-bred American traitor bitch like me."

Hannibal signalled B.A, and he delivered another blow, this time to the abdomen, making the soldier groan in pain, bent at the waist.

"That's no way to talk to a lady," Hannibal said in broken Vietnamese. "Are you sure you don't speak English?"

That man spat on his face then. Hannibal kept calm, wiping the saliva off slowly with the back of his hand, and looked at that soldier in the eye for a few seconds. Then, he suddenly grabbed his knife and sank it into the soldier's thigh, fast and deep, catching everyone by surprise.

"I don't have time for nonsense! You are going to tell me what I want to know, and you are going to tell me right now!" he barked, while twisting the knife viciously inside that leg.

"Hannibal…" B.A started, puzzled by his attitude.

"I don't like torturing people, Sergeant, but God knows what they are doing to Face and Murdock right now! Probably worse than this, if they treat them as they did the last time."

The soldier cried his head off in pain until B.A covered his mouth, holding him from behind.

"Where are my men?! Where did you take them?!" Hannibal shouted, still stirring the knife in the wound.

B.A took his hand off the soldier's mouth, but as he only carried on screaming, he covered it again. Hannibal retrieved the bloodstained knife, and then got his pistol with his left hand, aiming with it to the other leg, at the knee.

"Start talking or I'll blow your kneecap to pieces!"

"No! Please, no!" the soldier screamed.

"I knew you could speak English, you piece of shit! Where are they?"

"I don't know!"

"That Colonel Shu took them. Where?" Hannibal asked again, pounding the stabbing wound with his gloved fist.

The soldier cried and started talking in Vietnamese, quite fast, and Hannibal could not make up what he was saying, other than the obvious insults.

"What is he saying?"

"Nothing of value. Ranting. Hating you," Tia said.

Hannibal stood up and shot one of the still unconscious soldiers in his leg.

"Tell him his knee is next, and then his balls."

The soldier understood without the translation, and he talked fast in Vietnamese again, fretting.

"He said they took them to the prison near Thôn Vân Tường," Tia said.

"Where's that?" Hannibal said, unfolding the map.

"South from here, but you won't find it in the map," Quang said.

"Quang, you are awake!" Tia said, rushing to his side.

"Help me up, please."

Tia helped him to sit up on the cot, taking the blankets off him, and offered him a glass of water.

"Can you tell me where that is in the map?" Hannibal said, extending it in front of him.

"Yes," Quang said, studying the map while he drank, struggling to keep his dark, puffy eyes opened wide enough to see anything. "Around here," he said, pointing at an empty area in the map.

"There? That's in the middle of nowhere!"

"Yes."

"How do you know?"

"I'll tell you later. First, I need to prepare something."

"Are you OK?" Tia said, helping him up.

"No, but I will be. I'm so sorry I had to tell them where your men were hiding, but they would have killed Tia."

"Don't worry about it. It's my fault. I shouldn't have left them behind," Hannibal said.

"Not your fault either."

Quang moved slowly, walking like an old man, helped by Tia. He collected a few herbs and ingredients from the large collection of bottles he had in store, mixed them all in a pot with water and brought the mix back, to boil in the fire.

"B.A, take these men to the cellar," Hannibal said, pointing at the soldiers, "but take their clothes off first."

While he did that, Hannibal faced the other soldier, and continued asking him questions about that prison: the distribution of the buildings, the amount of guards, their shifts and routines, and all sorts of useful information. When he finished with him, he punched his face hard, rendering him unconscious, and dragged him to the other room with the others, also taking his clothes.

"What do you want the cloths for?" B.A asked.

"I don't know yet. But their uniforms may come in handy. Better to be prepared."

"I won't fit in no tiny uniform!"

"No, I wasn't expecting you to do so. Besides, I don't have a ton of make up at hand to make you look Vietnamese," he said, laughing.

"That's not funny."

"Humour is in the eye of the beholder, B.A."

"That's beauty, and you're nuts!"

"Probably," he said, dumping the first body into the cellar, "but not certified like Murdock."

"What are we doing with the dead ones?" B.A said after they had locked the three unconscious soldiers in that cellar.

"Nothing. They are not going to chase us or tell anybody about us like these three would. Don't worry about them; someone will find them tomorrow when they scream the place down."

When they got back to the main room, Quang was sitting at the cot again, drinking the infusion, and was offering some to Tia.

"How are your ribs?"

"Better, thank you. That ointment you made worked wonders," Hannibal said.

"Take some of this. As you Americans like to say: it's good stuff."

"OK, I'll have some, thanks."

Quang offered him a bowl, and Hannibal drank it all, although it tasted like shit.

"Wow. Delicious!"

Quang made an attempt at laughing, and then he asked for the map.

"I was collecting some herbs around here seven years ago," he said, pointing at a spot on the map. "I found a man there, who was badly injured, shot in the back. He said he was an American soldier, held prisoner since 1971."

"What? You saw him in 1979? No way!" B.A said.

"Yes."

"Are you saying there are still POWs held in prisons in Vietnam since the war, for real?" Hannibal said.

"I don't know if there are any left now. But he said there were ten of them back then, in that prison, in 1979. They tried to escape, and at least four of them got killed that day. That man also died from his wounds two days after I found him. I couldn't save him. His name was Arthur Everson."

"Did you tell anyone about him?" Hannibal said.

"Who could I tell? Those men don't exist, they are like ghosts. Nobody wants to admit their existence."

"Not here, and neither in the US… Shit," Hannibal said. "Did you get his dog tags?"

"No. He had no tags, and no uniform. He wore rags. I buried him, and that was it."

Quang lay down on the cot again, taking a hand over his black, puffy eyes.

"Sorry. That bastard kicked my head many times. I'm quite dizzy now."

"Rest now, don't worry. I think it is kind of a miracle you are up and about after that beating you got. Rest, and in the meantime, I'll think on our next step."

"Take me with you, please. I'm dead if I stay here. And somebody in this village sold me out. They don't deserve my help anymore."

"Yes, of course. We won't leave you behind. You and Tia should come to the US with us, whichever way we can make it there."

"Thank you."

"B.A, can you bring the white van here? I'll have a look at the army vehicles. We are also taking one of those."

"Are we?"

"Yes. Come on, hurry up."

"Have you got a plan then?"

"Kind of."

"Please, don't get _on the jazz_ , Hannibal."

"That's inevitable, Sergeant."

"Oh, man... Damn, not the jazz!" B.A said, taking one of the rifles as he left the house, shaking his head.

AAAAA


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10**

Face was still asleep in the morning when the key rattled in the lock. Murdock panicked, looking up to the door through his swollen, black eyes, but the three POWs didn't seem concerned this time.

"Don't worry," Harlow said. "Shu never comes early in the morning. That should be our crappy breakfast."

A soldier stood by the door, aiming his automatic rifle at them, while the sergeant with the bruised eye came in, carrying a tray with five bowls of a not very appetizing mess of rice and vegetables.

The POWs took a bowl each, and then the soldier took the tray close to Murdock, who sniffed one of the bowls, wrinkling his nose. Taking a hand to his fractured, aching nose, he quickly moved his head away from the bowl, hissing in pain because it hurt, as it was swollen and bruised, matching his puffy eyes and lip. His whole face was swollen and aching that morning, bothering him even more than the gunshot in his shoulder.

"You should try to eat some, even if it looks disgusting, because they won't give you anything else until the evening," Harlow said. "You didn't touch your meal last night. Aren't you hungry?"

The sergeant with the black eye positioned himself with his back to the others, got something from the front pocket of his shirt, and left it on the tray.

" _One of each, every 8 hours_ ," he whispered.

" _Antibiotics?_ " Murdock whispered back.

The soldier nodded, and added: " _And painkillers. For both of you_."

Murdock nodded, taking the blister packs, and watched him leave the cell, followed by the other soldier with the rifle. He had no idea why that sergeant had grown a conscience and was helping them, but he was grateful for the little help.

"What's going on?" Murdock said, looking at Harlow.

"This is the routine here. We have breakfast and then they take us outside to work in the first shift, for a few hours. The rest of the time we are locked in this cell. We don't have contact with the other inmates. We eat, shit and sleep here. The only other times we leave this cell is to go to the _joy room_ , or to have a cold shower once a week."

"Wow. Fourteen years of that?"

"Yes, fourteen years of this shit."

The three POWs ate all the food in their bowls quickly, as if it was exquisite and they couldn't have enough, which said a lot about how hungry they were.

Murdock looked at his bowl again, with apprehension. His stomach rumbled, but he wasn't _that_ hungry yet as to eat _that_ voluntarily, despite his bad reputation about the kind of inedible crap he could eat.

"Eat it. It's OK today. Sometimes they pee on it," Harlow said.

"What?"

"Or worse."

"No!"

"This is Colonel Shu's playground, remember? Anything goes," Scott said. "Anything that humiliate us, ranks high on the list of possibilities."

Murdock lowered his voice then, hesitating, but he had to ask.

"Have they ever…?"

"What?"

"You know…"

Murdock simulated a hole with his left hand, and prodded it with his right index finger, sliding it in and out.

"Of course they have, the bastards! Countless times!" Conley said with his mouth full, still gobbling up his food, while Murdock looked at him, upset and disgusted. "Don't look so shocked: that's less painful than some of the other things they do here, and it's far from the worse. In the end, you get used to it."

"How could you get used to that?"

"Well, believe me: after the first hundred times, you do," Conley said, still shoving rice into his mouth, unfazed. "It has happened about… let's say… once or twice every two weeks, on average, for 14 years. You do the maths."

"I can't believe you guys! This cannot be real. Why haven't you lost your minds already? How can you look so _normal_?"

Murdock had heard of resilience, but what he was witnessing, it was too much. If these guys had put up with all that crap for so long without going insane, it put him to shame somehow, losing his marbles after only five years as a war pilot and ten lousy days at a POW camp. Nothing in comparison with what they've been through.

"Look, once you take the perceived humiliation of rape and the emotional trauma out of the equation, it is more of the same: physical pain and torture," Harlow said. "But, as the major said, you only realize of that after a while. A long while. The first year is the most difficult. If you survive that, you hide under a hard, outer shell, and nothing can break it. Rape could look like the worse thing to some, but it's not. Comparing with other things, it's not so bad. For example, I guess your friend would have preferred to be buggered by ten soldiers in a row to what that bastard did to his arm."

"No, believe me, he would not."

"The cane is worse," Scott said, leaving his empty bowl on the tray, by Murdock. "The psycho doesn't touch us. He likes to watch. Or use the cane. I'm sorry, but your friend's wound is not the only hole that bastard likes to prod with his cane."

Murdock looked at Face, and then at Scott's rear end as he walked away. He heaved then, and grabbed the empty bowl Scott just left on the tray, but he only vomited some bile, as his stomach was empty. He looked at the antibiotics he had left back on the tray. Face better wake up soon, so he could have the first pill as soon as possible! And he should never let him find out about that cane, and where it had been.

Scott laughed at Murdock's reaction.

"Don't worry," he said, in stitches. "I'm only joking. That psycho has lots of canes. Who knows which one he used this time!"

"Bob, leave it there, please. It's not funny," Harlow said. "He's freaking out."

"I'll decide what's funny or not," Scott said, defiant. "I haven't got much to do with my time here. Let me amuse myself when I have the chance."

"Guys, give it up. We don't have much time left. They'll be back in a moment," Conley said, also leaving the empty bowl on the tray, where he spotted the pills. "Who gave you that?"

"That sergeant. Antibiotics and painkillers, as we asked."

"Really? Nobody gave us anything before," he said, with a hint of jealousy in his voice.

"I don't know why he did that, but I'm not going to complain."

"Hide them before someone else sees them."

Murdock took one of each for himself and put the rest in his jacket's pocket again.

The soldiers came back shortly after and took the three POWs with them, but left Murdock and Face alone in the cell.

As Face didn't seem that willing to wake up on his own, Murdock shook him lightly, slapping his face gently, calling him, because it was important that he took the antibiotics as soon as possible. It took a while, but eventually Face opened his eyes, moaning. His forehead felt hot again, and he looked feverish, although showing a ghastly pallor around the dark bruises and cuts on his face.

"Why do you always wake me up, Murdock?" he mumbled, closing his eyes again. "Leave me alone."

"Because I want you to take some antibiotics. And painkillers. And some delicious food. Come on," Murdock said, helping him up a bit, lifting his head and torso gently. Face groaned immediately when he did that, holding onto the thin mattress with his right hand.

"Shit, it hurts! It really hurts! Let me down, please!"

No wonder he didn't want to wake up. As Murdock lifted his torso, the pain in his ribs and in the disturbed wound in his abdomen was unbearable, and the more he tensed his body to resist the movement, the more it hurt. He whimpered then, with a dreadful grimace distorting his handsome features.

"I know it hurts. I would be surprised if it didn't. Come one, the painkillers will help. Relax and lean on me, because I got you, don't worry."

Face did that, resting his back on Murdock's chest, finding a bit of relief when he relaxed, calming down a notch.

"How's your shoulder?"

"It's OK. I'll live. My broken nose is bothering me more. Well, the whole head is."

"Yeah, you look awful."

"Look who's talking!"

"Where did you get the pills from?" Face said, drinking some water to swallow the capsule Murdock put in his mouth.

"We have a friend. One of the guards took pity on us. The other guys are jealous, because they never gave them shit."

"Wow. I'm so good scamming stuff, I can do it even when I'm out!"

"Yeah. Something like that, Facey; you are the best. Come on, swallow the other one."

When he did, he offered him some of the rice.

"What's that? It looks disgusting."

"No, it's delicious. Come on, eat it."

" _Delicious_ … Yeah, that's easy for you to say, a human garbage disposal with very low standards about what is edible or not… Yuck!"

"The guys said this is all we'll get until the evening, so we'll have to make an effort. They are so hungry they ate it with gusto, like gourmet food. To be honest, I took some and I nearly puked, but it's all we got, and it's all we're gonna get. Come on, take some, don't make me do the plane," Murdock said, with the sound of an engine, shoving a spoonful into Face's mouth while still holding him up.

"Where are they?" Face said after he swallowed the first bite, when he realized the POWs were gone.

"They took them out to work somewhere. Apparently, that's the routine. The rest of the time they are locked in here."

"And where's Hannibal?"

"Not showing up yet. But don't worry, he'll come," Murdock said, trying to sound confident, giving him another spoonful.

"I really hope so. Do you know anything about Tia?"

"No."

"I wonder what happened to her, but I don't really want to think about it."

"No, me neither. Poor girl."

They stayed silent for a moment, lost in their depressing thoughts about Tia's likely fate, while Murdock kept feeding his friend, until he talked again.

"Face, I talked to the guys. They said… Oh, man, I'm so sorry. You won't like this."

"What?"

"They said they rape them all the time, regularly."

"That doesn't surprise me, in a shithole like this, with that bastard in charge."

"I know how you feel about it, but these guys…"

"I don't care what these guys do or say. I won't go through that again! If the bastards try, they can pull the trigger this time, because I won't have it. Not anymore."

"Harlow said the trick is to forget the humiliation, and take it as another kind of physical torture, and…"

"Not anymore, not ever!" Face shouted, stressed, interrupting him again. "I promised myself that at the camp, the last time they did it, on our last day there. If Hannibal had not rescued us when he did, the next day they would have blown my brains out. I really don't care what these guys here do to accommodate rape into their routines. I won't have it!"

Face got the flashbacks of the scenes he had tried the hardest to erase from his memory, when he was raped at the POW camp, repeatedly, brutally, almost every day, always with a gun on his head so he would be still, pinned down by at least three soldiers, sometimes more.

"There is something else I never told you."

"What?"

"I was raped at the orphanage, when I was nine years old."

"No!"

"Yes, by one of the foster careers that came to an adoption party. That left me scarred for life. I never told anyone when it happened, because I was so scared."

"Oh, Face… I'm so sorry. How could anyone abuse innocent children like that?"

Murdock was shocked by that revelation, because his friend had never mentioned that before, ever. No wonder Face was so peculiar about relationships, and how strongly he reacted against rape at the POW camp.

"I guess I was lucky, because it only happened once. But I couldn't take it when it happened again at the POW camp. And I swore then, that it would be the last time. I'll die before I let anyone do that to me again."

That horrible experience of his childhood and the following episodes at the POW camp had left Face damaged forever, unable to have a normal relationship, and it was one of the reasons why he always hid away from commitment, because he felt he wasn't good enough, and he didn't want a long-term partner that could find out about his shameful secret. But, on the other hand, he always felt the compelling need to get involved with willing women in short flings, and do his best to please them, if only for one night, as he always had the need to make up for the non-consensual, brutal rape he suffered. Basically, he was screwed, and he knew it. Although, to everyone else, he looked "normal" and well-adjusted in society, unlike Murdock, who was much easier to spot as "broken".

His loony friend knew all about it, except his experience at the orphanage, but he never said anything to the others. Although, Face suspected Hannibal also knew, because he had seen the medical records, and he could not miss that nasty rectal laceration highlighted at the top of the long list of injuries he got at the POW camp, the one that took ages to heal physically, but never did psychologically. But Hannibal never asked him about it, probably waiting for him to open up, but, as he never did, the issue was swept under the carpet and forgotten. Or, at least Face had tried to forget about it, unsuccessfully.

"If it happens again, why don't you just stay still and ignore them, as I did, please? Maybe that's why they got bored with me, because I played dead every time they touched me, and they didn't get the kicks out of it as they did with you. They only raped me twice, and that could not be because of my looks," he said, taking off his cap to finger-comb his crazy hair proudly.

"I can't dissociate from reality as you do, Murdock, and travel to fairy land whenever I want. And, as I said several times already, I'll rather die than endure that again. So, please, change the subject."

"How's your arm?" Murdock said, replacing the cap back on. "Harlow said you'd probably prefer ten soldiers buggering you to what that psycho did to your arm."

"I said _change the subject._ "

"Yes, sorry. The arm. It doesn't look very good, does it?"

Face's left hand was swollen, black and purple, with the huge haematoma sweeping down from the facture site to his fingers. It throbbed at the fracture site, but the rest of the arm and the hand felt numbed, and unresponsive.

"Can you move your fingers?"

"Hardly. And the fracture doesn't hurt as much as it should now, I think. Do you think I'll lose the arm?" he said, looking up with his wide open, anxious, puppy eyes. The distraught, intense look of a lost child that always made Murdock sad and uncomfortable.

"Don't say that, no. The doctors will fix you up when we get you to a hospital."

"I hope you are right. Hannibal, where are you?" Face said, closing his eyes, refusing the next spoonful of rice. "I had enough, thank you. Please, let me sleep again. If I'm sleeping, it doesn't hurt."

Murdock held him up again, away from his torso, and left him down gently, lying back on the bed.

"Thanks, pal. What would I do without you?"

"I don't know. But, me, without you to worry about, keeping me grounded, I would be barking at the walls and running around with Billy, sure. And peeing on the colonel's pants."

Face chuckled, and as the night before, he moaned.

"Please, don't make me laugh. It hurts when I laugh. Shut up."

"As you wish, Milord," Murdock said with a stiff, British accent, that made Face chuckle and moan again. "I'm sorry! So sorry. I'll shut up now, promise! Get your beauty sleep, come on. I'll keep watch over you, as the lullaby say. I won't let them touch you."

"I wish you could do that. I really do," Face said, drowsy, nodding off almost immediately, exhausted.

AAA

That night, Hannibal and B.A drove to the area close to the prison, with the van and one of the military trucks, which they parked hidden, out of sight, away from the main road, which was another narrow, dirt track, that wasn't marked on the map.

In the morning, Hannibal woke up inside the van. They had refurbished it with three cots, to use it has an ambulance for Quang, Murdock and Face, and they had come in handy to get some rest.

B.A had been on watch for the last three hours, and now they should go to the prison on foot, on reconnaissance.

"I'll go with you," Tia said when he saw them getting ready to go.

"No, I think it will be better if you stay here with Quang," Hannibal said.

"You know the uniforms you got from the soldiers? What if I put one on, and get into that prison to find out where your friends are?"

"Actually, I thought about that, but I didn't want to suggest it, because that's too dangerous."

"It will be the fastest way to find out what's going on."

"How's your ankle? Can you walk all right?"

"Much better."

"That ointment is something else, isn't it?"

"I'll get the uniform."

She got into the truck to change, and Hannibal looked at her go, with a smile on his face, impressed by her wit and grit.

When she reappeared, wearing the uniform of the smallest, thinnest soldier, she certainly looked the part.

Hannibal handed her the weapons to complete the look.

"If only I could transfer you my stubble somehow…" Hannibal said, feeling his unshaved, coarse jaw. "You'll have to be careful, and act _manly_. You know what I mean: burp, fart, scratch your balls… that sort of thing," he joked.

"I'll be all right. I can do that."

"Take this one too," Hannibal said, handing her an automatic rifle. "If they get us by surprise on the way there, you can always say that you captured us. I'm not sure if that would fly, but we can give it a try. Do you know how to use it?"

"Yes, I do."

They headed for the prison then, leaving Quang resting in the van. They travelled a mile through the jungle to get there, and on the way, Hannibal told her everything he had found out about the prison, if he could believe what that soldier told him. When they got there, they stopped by the high wall of the compound, in a quiet area that didn't seem over-guarded.

"Take one of those," Hannibal said, handing her one of the walkie-talkies he had found in one of the vehicles. "I put these two on a different channel to the others. I won't call you; I'll only wait for your news."

"Now, how can we get you inside, little lady?" B.A said, looking around.

"I can climb that tree. It's close enough to that post inside the fence."

Hannibal and B.A looked up, but all they could see was a big gap between the tree and the post.

Before Hannibal or B.A could object, she hung the rifle at her back, climbed up that tree with ease, and held onto the extending branches like a monkey. Then she jumped into the air, stepping lightly onto one of the small, metal stakes that held the barbed wire at the top of the wall, and used that extra impulse to reach and grab the other post. Then, she slid down like a firefighter, already inside the prison grounds. Easy as pie.

"Look at her going! She's on the jazz!" Hannibal said, grinning. "Wouldn't she be great as an addition to the A-Team? Amy and Tawnia were helpful, but we could definitely put her skills to good use." He got a cigar out of his pocket and put it in his mouth, still smiling. "Oh, yes, that would be great!"

While he lit the cigar, B.A went mad.

"I don't need no crazy chick on the jazz! Got enough jazz with you! She's mental! How's she gonna climb back?"

"She won't. She can go out through the main exit, or come with the rest of us, when we get in to get the boys."

"Is that your plan?"

"Yes."

"Jeez, you ain't gonna use your _classic frontal attack with a half-pincer movement_ , are you?"

"Exactly! I love it when you pay attention, B.A," Hannibal said, grinning while puffing smoke on his angry face.

AAAAA


	11. Chapter 11

**A.N – My apologies to the true** _ **Star Trek**_ **fans. As RobinRedoe said in the review, I mixed up the dates of the appearance of the Borgs and the catch phrase "** _ **resistance is futile**_ **", which I used in chapter 7. After a quick wander on google about the origin of the phrase, (other than Nazi Germany, which suits Colonel Shu nicely), I had in mind the year 1978, but that was in other series,** _ **Space 1999**_ **, and previously in** _ **Doctor Who**_ **and** _ **The Hitchhikers Guide to the Galaxy**_ **. In my mind, I got that it was the Borgs on Star Trek in 1978, which I have to confess, I have no idea about, as I never watched Star Trek, but I thought it was a nice touch to illustrate how the guys had been out of the "civilized western world" for a while, since 1973, not catching on the TV series, for example, and because I knew the actor that played Murdock also acted in that series (and also because Murdock looks like a loony space cadet and follower of Star Trek). So, ignore the little detail that the Borgs appeared in 1990, and were not around in 1986, please.**

 **Minor, minor, details… that are so annoying and all-important to fanfiction writers! LOL**

 **Chapter 11**

Tia walked into the compound with a purposeful stride, covering the ground as if she knew where she was going. With the brief instructions Hannibal gave her, she had a vague idea of where the buildings were, what they may contain, and where she should be looking for Murdock and Face. Along the way to one of those buildings, she spotted three prisoners working outside, building a wall, guarded by two soldiers with submachine guns. The prisoners looked American, so she wondered if they could be the remaining POWs still in that camp.

As she walked by them, one of the guards called her.

"Hey, you! Can you watch these scumbags for a moment, please? I need a break," he said in Vietnamese.

"Yeah, but hurry up."

She held the rifle up front, in position, and wandered nearer to the three men building the wall.

"Hey, you. Over here," she said in English, coming closer to one of them. "Don't look at me. Listen, but carry on working," she said in a low tone of voice that only that man could hear.

Harlow couldn't help but looking at that soldier briefly, and then carried on laying bricks.

"Who are you? What do you want?" he said, also in a low voice.

"Are you American POWs, from the war?"

"Yes."

"Have you seen the other Americans, Murdock and Peck?"

"Yes."

"Where are they?"

"In that building behind you, in the cell at the far corner."

"We're coming to rescue them, and you. Soon, so stay alert. We may need your help."

"How? What's the plan?"

"I don't know yet. I'm having a look first. Are there any more POWs other than you three?"

"No. But Murdock talked about a girl who was with them. She must be here somewhere."

"Don't worry about her."

"Have you rescued her already?"

"I am that girl."

Harlow had to look at her again. _Bloody hell, that's a woman! How could I miss that!_

"Don't look at me, please. Carry on working!"

"I can't believe this. How…? What's going on? Are you with that Hannibal those guys talked about, the one they said will come to rescue them?"

"Yes."

As she said that, the other soldier returned from his quick toilet break, startling her as he suddenly appeared on her back.

"It didn't take you long," she said, hanging the rifle at her back again, casually, lowering her head to hide her face, with an apparent calm she didn't really feel.

"Thanks. I'll take over now. You can go."

Tia left quickly, heading for the building behind them as if she knew exactly where she was going, in a hurry, with her heart pounding in her chest as she got away.

Harlow got near Conley and Scott then, still amazed by that unexpected turn.

"Guys, you won't believe this!" he started, whispering. "We're getting out of here!"

AAA

Murdock looked at his friend as he stirred in that narrow bed, worried for him, as he now moaned and whimpered in a restless sleep, agitated. Despite the antibiotics, Face's temperature was rising, and his forehead was covered with droplets of sweat, that he wiped off from time to time with his sleeve. Murdock's eyes always wandered back to the swollen hand sticking out of the sling, which wasn't a pretty sight. On the contrary, it was misshapen, hideous, and difficult to look at, but compelling at the same time. In a word: shocking. He could only hope Hannibal would hurry up, and could come up with a brilliant plan to get them out of there in time to get Face to a hospital, to treat that arm before it would become gangrenous and had to be amputated. But looking at that blackened, swollen hand, they could be at that stage already.

 _Shit, Facey. How would you cope without your arm?_ he thought, with a tight knot in his stomach, remembering his friend's panicked expression when he asked for his opinion on the matter. _Not very well, I know._

His shoulder was throbbing now, giving him grief every time he moved his arm or torso, and he wished it could be him losing one arm instead of Face. He really wouldn't mind losing it, as long as Face would be fine. After all, he would look great with a prosthetic arm attached to his elbow, with a pirate hook or a talking sock at the end of it. Or even better: and end piece that could be shaped as a talking lobster claw, to drive B.A up the walls!

Chuckling at that thought, he wiped off his friend's forehead one more time, and talked to him softly.

"Hold down, Facey. Help is coming, I know. Just hold on a bit longer."

Then, longing for another injection of morphine, he wondered how much time he had left before the psycho colonel decided to have a second round of masochistic thrills. He had to do his best, so the colonel would leave Face alone, taking only him to that _joy room_ , the odd name given by the guys to that chamber of horrors. After all, he could always slip into his own, painless, parallel universe, whenever he wanted, and ride the torture until Hannibal would get them out.

Suddenly, the key rattled on the door and the soldier with the bruised eye and another angry looking one came into the cell, and headed directly towards him.

"Get up! Colonel Shu wants to see you!" the grumpy soldier barked in English.

Murdock looked up, blinking with his puffy, bruised eyes. At least, they didn't seem interested in taking Face this time, a small consolation to be strong.

" _Help me,_ " Murdock's eyes said as he stared at the man with the black eye, but the sergeant avoided looking at him. He lifted him up, but handled him in a noticeably softer way than the other soldier, who was very rough with his injured shoulder, pulling from his arm without a second thought. Murdock understood he could not compromise that nice soldier asking him for help directly, because he would get in trouble. As they dragged him away, he looked back at Face, who was still sleep. At least, they didn't seem concerned with him, and hopefully that morning the psycho colonel would be happy to interrogate and torture him only.

As they got out of the cell, another soldier came in. Murdock lifted his head to look at him, and couldn't help but gasp in surprise. That was Tia!

"Where are you going?" the grumpy soldier asked in Vietnamese, which Murdock understood.

"Cell search," she said.

"OK. Close the door when you finish, and leave the key at the hanger."

As the soldiers dragged Murdock along the corridor, he turned his head to look at Tia, who held a finger on her lips to urge him to keep quiet. He tried hard then to keep his head still, looking at the front, and not looking back at her again, suppressing the smile that wanted to curl his lips up. Whatever she was doing, it must be part of Hannibal's bold plan to get them out of there. It was time!

AAA

Hannibal held onto the walkie-talkie as he smoked his cigar, waiting for Tia's report. He wanted to look confident about his so-called "plan", or the lack thereof, but the truth was, he wasn't. But, with or without a plan, they had to rescue Face and Murdock as soon as possible, because the longer they stayed in that prison, the higher the chances of finding them in a similar state to the last time. And he could not face that, not again. Besides, this time, they were already injured and in need of a hospital, to make matters worse, and more urgent.

He had never recovered from the shock of Face's injuries, and how guilty he felt about it. When he got to him, he had bruises all over; broken ribs, facial bones, fingers and teeth; angry and infected deep marks of ropes grazing the skin on his wrists, ankles and neck; deep and superficial burns of many sizes, some made by cigarette butts; welts on his back and torso; and the nasty cough from the near-drowning episodes. And the most upsetting injury of all: judging for the rectal laceration, the doctors told him he had probably been raped several times, brutally, but Face kept to himself, and never opened about what happened, and never complained about the delay on the rescue, or made any fuss about it, and he never blamed Hannibal for it, although it wasn't necessary, because he blamed himself. Face never revealed any specific details of the abuse, and Hannibal could only make up a composition of the horror by what little Murdock said of his own and Face's nightmare, slipping bits and pieces here and there, mostly by accident.

Both men had counselling and psychological therapy, besides the physical rehabilitation, but unlike Murdock, Face seemed to have recovered nicely from the ordeal, without apparent sequelae. But Hannibal knew better. For example, that emotional awkwardness in relationships and the womanizing behaviour appeared later, after the torture. And for Murdock… well, he was already losing his marbles in his fourth year as a war pilot, and that harrowing experience only tipped him to the edge.

For all that, he had to get his vulnerable men out of there ASAP, because he could not let them down a second time. Not again. No wonder Face had asked B.A to shoot him if he ever had to go back to a similar place.

The sudden crackling of the walkie-talkie got him out of those gloomy thoughts.

"Hannibal," Tia's voice came through with some distortion. "I found them."

"Great. How are they?" he answered, not sure if he wanted to know the honest answer.

AAA

Tia turned over the mattress and made herself busy pretending to be doing a thorough search of the cell while the other soldiers dragged Murdock away. After making a good enough mess, she stopped to check on Face. She touched his forehead and it was hot. He was sweating, and turning his head to the sides, moaning, looking delirious, like suffering a nightmare. She pulled the blanket away to check his injuries, and she was shocked by the state of his arm. She went to the door then quickly, making sure no other soldiers could hear her, and got the walkie-talkie.

"Hannibal, I found them."

"Great. How are they?" Hannibal answered in a low voice that could not hide his concern for his men.

"Not good. Face is in a very bad shape, and the soldiers just took Murdock away from the cell."

"Where to?"

"I don't know. But you must hurry. The cell is in the last building on the right, as that soldier said, in the far end corner."

"All right."

"I talked to the POWs. There's three of them still here. They know you are coming and they'll try to help."

"OK. Lie low. We are getting the truck now."

"Someone's coming!"

AAA

Tia stopped talking, and Hannibal didn't dare to call her back to find out what was going on.

"B.A, we have to get the truck. But I don't want to leave this position in case she calls back, because we may get out of range. Get Quang in the truck. I'm not sure how will we get out of here, but maybe we can all get a ride in that big bird instead of using the van," he said, pointing at the large army helicopter that was approaching the compound then.

"We have no pilot, Hannibal."

"I'll fly if Murdock can't. I have some notions, and he can guide me, as he did to land that plane when he got blinded."

"You are nuts! I'm not flying!"

"B.A, if we manage to break in, get them out, and fly away to Hanoi in that helicopter, all in one piece, that would be the best outcome we could get. Please, don't spoil it with your negativity!"

"Negativity? I could show you negativity!" B.A cried, showing Hannibal his heavily jewelled fist.

"Sergeant, please, get the truck. I'm waiting. We are all waiting, counting on you."

He handed him another walkie-talkie, set to a different frequency, hoping he would not mix his handsets up: right pocket for Tia's, left for BA's.

"I'll meet you on the road."

The urgency in his voice made B.A cave in, with a grunt. He grabbed the walkie-talkie and dashed into the jungle to get to the truck. He knew Hannibal was right: the best possible way to escape would be stealing that chopper. But, man! How much he hated flying! Even less without a fully functional, sane or otherwise crazy as a loon pilot…

AAA

The soldiers removed Murdock's jacket and T-shirt, and tied him up to the post in the same position Face had been, with the strap around his neck, wrists tied behind the post, and more straps around his ankles.

Murdock had a quick look at the room, and, against his better judgement, he opened his mouth to blurt his opinion.

"Oh, boy, the doctors at the V.A hospital would enjoy treating your masochistic/narcissistic disorder so much…"

"Would they?" Shu said, tapping the cane against his hand in the same way he had done the day before. "Have you seen the state of your friend? Of course you have… Now, if you don't want to end the day in an even worse shape than he is, I suggest you start answering my questions: who are you?"

"Captain H.M Murdock, US Army, Airbone Division."

"Good. That wasn't that difficult, was it? It only took your friend the magic touch of this cane inside his wound to answer that same question."

"Yeah, that man can be a bit thick and slow sometimes... Me, the sharpest pencil in the box!"

"Why are you here?"

"Vacation."

"On holiday? Really? Well, I don't think you are that clever then."

He whacked Murdock's head fast and hard then, and he howled in pain. Shu showed his heinous smile; at least that man showed his pain, not like the other, stubborn one.

"That's what your friend said. And it only cost him a good shake of his broken arm… I'll ask you again: why are you here?"

"We came with that general you tortured and killed, General Fulbright."

"Why? What for? He never said anything either."

"Of course not, because the mission was top secret."

"What mission?"

"We came for the potato soup, to snatch the secret recipe."

The psycho colonel whacked Murdock a few times with the cane then, fast and furious.

"Do you think you are funny? I'll give you funny!" he said, tapping with the cane over Murdock's left shoulder, as he moaned in pain after the manic beating.

 _Oh, boy. Here comes the cane!_ he thought, clenching his jaw and tensing his body in anticipation.

"Bring the other guy!" Colonel Shu ordered then in Vietnamese, prodding with the cane in the gunshot wound.

"NOOOO!" Murdock yelled.

The psycho smiled, prodding deeper, never catching that the strange man wasn't complaining about the cane at all.

AAAAA


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter 12**

Murdock kept yelling as the psycho colonel poked with the cane, pushing hard to find the way through the gunshot wound, but it was more difficult than the maniac initially thought, as the tissues had started to heal, and part of the wound had scarred already when Hannibal burned it with the hot rod. Shu, however, was determined to use Murdock as a piece of meat on a skewer, and he carried on thrusting blindly until the cane appeared at the back, breaking through the tender, exit wound, with blunt force. It hardly bled at all, comparing to the initial gunshot wound, but breaking through the tissues caused a searing and excruciating kind of pain.

Murdock didn't pass out while he did that, focused as he was on staying awake to protect Face, but he wriggled and screamed his head off as it happened, shouting obscenities non-stop. When it was done, he stood still with his eyes closed, panting, loathing the man, with his head tilted to the opposite side, away from the intrusive cane sticking out of his shoulder, which he didn't want to look at or he would be sick.

Then, the sound of a helicopter filled the air, a sound Murdock could easily identify as a UH-1H Huey model, that landed nearby. Would that be Hannibal, coming to get him? But, in that case, who could be the pilot? Harlow? That familiar sound didn't last long, as the pilot killed the engine immediately after landing, and the whop-whop noises made by the rotor blades slowed down until they stopped completely.

The colonel didn't seem too pleased with the arrival, but he carried on asking Murdock questions as if he hadn't heard that noise at all.

"Now, are you going to tell me what's your real mission?"

"Do you think… I'm going to tell you shit… after you did this to me?" Murdock hissed, opening his eyes again to look at him with hatred. "I was cooperating, man!"

"Yes, you are going to tell me, because I can still do this," the psycho said, shaking the cane hard, bringing Murdock's agonizing pain to a new level, as he had done with Face.

"Aaarghh! All right!... OK… OK… I'll tell you!… Stop!" Murdock cried in between breaths, determined to buy time and stay alive until Hannibal could implement his rescue plan, whatever it was.

"So? Why are you here?"

It took him a while to be able to talk again, which he did in small bursts, in between the laboured intakes of air.

"We came… to rescue… a Super-girl. One… so special… that can fly… dodge bullets… kill dragons… and cook potato soup and phở… like an angel. She's… the general's daughter… but he thought… he was a boy. This girl… was a surprise…to us all… because…"

"What the hell are you talking about? That half-bred bitch that escaped?" Shu said, shaking the cane again. He didn't get that man, who irritated him to the moon and back while he apparently tried to be helpful and comply to his wishes.

"Arrghh!... Stop it! …Please! …I swear that's the truth!"

Colonel Shu stopped and let go of the cane, puzzled. There was something else about that strange man, and something in his voice, that told him he really believed that odd statement was the truth.

"Are you out of your mind?!"

"That's… a debatable issue… but my doctor… believe so… You can ask him," Murdock said, still panting and struggling to breathe and talk at the same time.

Colonel Shu let him recover for a little bit, and when he was about to ask him more questions, two soldiers arrived, dragging the barely conscious Lieutenant along.

"Look, your friend is here. Maybe he can help us."

"No! Leave him alone!" Murdock cried rather too eagerly, betrayed by his feelings.

AAA

The sergeant with the black eye arrived at the cell right after Tia hid the walkie-talkie back in her pocket.

"Have you finished searching?" he asked in Vietnamese.

"Yes," Tia said, approaching Face, in a defensive stance. Murdock's cry could be heard all over the prison then, and that got her on edge.

"Did you find anything?"

"No. It's clean."

 _Where did he put the pills then? Shit, maybe they are in his jacket. If the colonel finds them, I'm dead,_ the sergeant thought, angry because the colonel had scheduled a cell search right now, at the worse possible moment, with a worried expression in his face that Tia found strange.

They heard the whizzing sound of rotating blades then, when a helicopter landed outside. The sergeant knew what that meant: a visit from General Nguyen. Never good news.

"Give me a hand here. I have to take this man for interrogation," he said, shaking Face to wake him up.

"Really? He doesn't look fit for that."

"And what do you care?" he said, insisting on waking Face, slapping him gently until he started moaning and complaining, blinking as he came to.

That concern reminded the soldier of something, and he stared at Tia, intently, until he gasped.

"I know who you are! I got this because of you," he said, pointing at his black eye.

Tia panicked, and was ready to flee when the sergeant tried to calm her down, grabbing her sleeve.

"Don't worry! I won't tell! I'm trying to help them too. Colonel Shu is crazy, and dangerous. He nearly killed me because you escaped. Well done, by the way." He gave her a wink then, not showing any ill feelings but admiration. _This woman has guts! She not only escaped, but now she's here, in the lion's den... Wow._ "This should not be happening. These men should not be here. And neither am I. Or you."

"Was it you who gave them the pills I found under the mattress?" she said, relaxing a bit, switching to English.

"Yes."

"Pills, I need them pills," Face muttered when he heard the English words, looking at them with pleading, sleepy eyes. "It hurts."

Tia looked at the soldier, who shook his head.

"If he took them this morning, he shouldn't have any more until the afternoon."

"There are four pills missing in the blisters," she said, showing him the packs she carried now in one of her pockets.

"He shouldn't have any more then."

"I'm sorry, Face, but you can't have anymore for a while," she said, taking his good hand, and combing his sweaty fringe back. He looked feverish, with an odd glint in his eyes, but fully awake now.

Face looked up, puzzled by the way that soldier was holding his hand and stroking him, and how come he knew his nickname, until he recognized her, squinting his bruised eyes to focus better.

"Tia? Is that you?"

"Yes. It's me."

"Are you alright? I was so worried about you! Did you escape?"

"Yes. I'm with Hannibal. He's coming."

"Thank God for that!" he said with a hopeful, weak smile, closing his eyes, squeezing her hand lightly.

"Why are you here? Do you have a plan to escape?" the sergeant said.

"Yes, we are getting them out."

"Are you going to America with them?"

"Yes."

"All right. I'll help you, but only if I can defect and go to America with you. I can't stand this psycho and this rotten system anymore. If I stay, that colonel will kill me, sooner or later."

"That could be arranged, yes. Let me talk to Hannibal." She got the walkie-talkie and pressed the button. "Hannibal?"

"Yes. Everything OK?" said the concerned voice that came through the speaker.

"Yes. I'm with Face. We got the help of a Vietnamese soldier now. He wants to defect to the US with us. Is that possible?"

"Can you trust him?"

"I guess. He's been helping your men. He gave them antibiotics and painkillers in secret."

"Is that enough to trust him?"

Tia looked at the sergeant, trying to make up her mind.

"I let you escape from the truck, you know? I was a bit slow to shoot you, remember? I knew what they would do to you in here, so when you made your move, I waited a bit until I opened fire."

That was true. She was fast, but that man was aiming a gun at her, and he should have had enough time to shoot before she jumped to the roof of that truck.

"Yes, I think we can trust him," she said. "There's a helicopter here. Do you think we could use it to escape?"

"We won't have a pilot if Murdock can't handle it, but I'm considering it."

"One of the American prisoners is a pilot. Harlow," the sergeant said.

"This man says one of the POWs is a pilot," Tia said to the speaker.

"Is he? Excellent! You have to tell these men that, when the party starts, they should secure that helicopter, and wait for us, because it will be our escape route. Can you do that?"

"I guess. Shu wants to take Face for interrogation now. He's torturing Murdock already. What should we do?"

"Will you take Face to the same room Murdock is in?"

The sergeant nodded, and Tia answered "yes."

"I'm waiting for B.A; we'll be there ASAP. Let them take Face to that room with Murdock, so they don't get suspicious until it is too late, and we'll extract them together. Tell him I'm sorry, but he should hold on just a little bit longer. And remember: if you don't get him there now, someone else will, and it'll be worse."

"No, don't take me there. Please, no," Face said, shaking his head, so weakly Hannibal didn't hear him.

"Where is that interrogation room?" Hannibal said.

"Last building, main corridor, fifth door on the left," the sergeant said, close to the speaker.

"Roger that. Anything else I should know?"

"No. Over," Tia said, placing the walkie-talkie back in her pocket.

AAA

The psycho took Face by the collar, off Tia's hands, and dragged him to the post, where he sat him down heavily, back to back with Murdock. He looked so weak Shu only tied the strap around his neck, to hold him upright in place, as that was enough containment.

"Who gave you a sling?"

Shu grabbed the fractured arm, making Face gasp in pain, and when he felt the splint under the shirt, he went mad.

"And who replaced that splint?!"

"I did," Murdock said, regulating his breathing so he could talk more normally. "You contravene all the points of the Geneva Convention. Not only you torture your prisoners, you deny them medical treatment too!"

"Shut up!" Shu cried, punching Murdock's sore mouth, making his split lip bleed again. He pulled off the cane from his shoulder with a fast move then, making him groan, and waved it in front of Face. "Do you remember your little friend?"

Right then, another soldier came into the _joy room_ quickly, looking nervous, while Tia had to make a huge effort refraining herself from taking her rifle to shoot the bastard. But she had to wait for Hannibal, or they would all get killed.

"General Nguyen is here. He's waiting for you at the office," the soldier said in Vietnamese.

"Keep an eye on them," Shu said to the other two soldiers in the room without even looking at them, leaving the bloodstained cane on the table.

"I'll tell the POWs about the helicopter!" Tia said, getting out quickly after Colonel Shu left, glad she could get away from that room and not witness any more of the abuse during the next few minutes, until help arrived in the form of an avenging angel with white hair.

When the colonel left, the sergeant followed him discreetly to listen to the conversation with the general, standing on the corridor, behind the closed door of the office.

AAA

Colonel Shu despised General Nguyen, the overweight bastard that was in charge of the red of military and estate prisons, and his superior. That visit was unscheduled, and he was sure it would not be good news. As he feared, the moment he came into the office, that man started shouting in Vietnamese, giving him a bollocking.

"When did you have the intention of telling me about the new American prisoners, Colonel Shu?"

"Today, of course."

"Our sources confirmed you came in contact with American troops yesterday, Colonel, and we still have not heard an official statement on the matter!"

For _"we"_ , he was referring to the communist government panel in charge of National Security.

"I don't know why we allowed you to keep those three POWs alive for so long, mainly for your own entertainment, but this has to stop now! Enough is enough! They should have been killed with all the others still in the country seven years ago, when the pressure from the Americans started. These men are an embarrassment to this government, and theirs, and should be eliminated before anybody else finds out about their existence. If American troops are here for them, it is only a matter of time before that goes public! They should all disappear without a trace as soon as possible, including the new ones you captured, and we'll deny all knowledge of this contact. Is that clear?"

"First of all, if I may speak clearly, Sir, you know perfectly well why you allowed this to continue under your supervision," Colonel Shu said, unable to contain his anger. That man had enjoyed many sessions at the _joy room_ , specially sodomizing the prisoners, so it was insulting to receive all the blame now. The general looked at him, infuriated, but let him continue. "If you think it is time to get rid of them all for good, that's fine for me, but I'm interrogating them right now to find out where the other two men that came with them are, and what are their intentions. You are welcome to join us, but I think we shouldn't kill them until we find out what these men are up to, to avoid unexpected, nasty surprises."

"I'll give you one hour. If you haven't got any information by then, you'll kill them all."

"All right. I have no problem with that."

"Where do you keep their ID tags? The panel wants to keep them."

"Why? I thought you said to get rid of all the evidence of their existence."

"Yes, but the board have a pile of them in store, since the war. They may come in handy at some point to show "international cooperation."

"I have them here, somewhere," the colonel said, rummaging in some store boxes he had in that office. When he found them in a plastic bag, he handed it over, and the general put them in his pocket.

"So, who do you have in now?"

"Two guys. I haven't got anything useful from them yet. No tags, no uniforms, but they confirmed they are a Captain and a Lieutenant from the US army. A Special Forces group acting unofficially, no doubt. They carry no civilian IDs either, although they insist they are here _on vacation_ , the fools."

"Let me see them."

AAA

Hannibal intercepted B.A's truck on the road, a safe distance away from the main, heavily guarded entrance to the compound. He got to the rear, and retracted the truck's tarpaulin cover to reveal the heavy machinegun mounted at the back. There, Hannibal saw the neat, little pile of Tia's folded clothes, and took them to the cabin.

"Keep this safe," he said, handing them to Quang, who occupied the passenger's seat.

When he handed it over, he saw the long headband hanging from the pile, and he had an idea.

"I'll borrow this. And her pendant," Hannibal said, looking in her pockets until he found it. "I need a pendant to complete the look."

Hannibal tied the headband then around his forehead, as before, and placed the pendant on his neck, which was a very tight fit.

"What is he doing?" Quang asked to B.A, puzzled.

"Hannibal, I can't stand this Rambo business! You are off your rocker!" B.A said, with zero tolerance for nonsense.

"It keeps me in the Jazz."

"Does it? The Rambo movie?" Quang said.

"Rambo is pure Jazz. You have to see the films when we get to America."

"You are nuts!" B.A cried, losing it.

"Quang, I made a mistake the last time. I waited too long, and my boys got tortured to death. I won't do that again. We are getting them out of there NOW, and if Rambo gives me some inspiration, so be it."

"OK. I'm ready. Let's go," Quang said.

"Murdock! I'm coming to get you!" Hannibal said menacingly, as Rambo did on the film.

"Oh, man... He's really on the jazz!" B.A said, shaking his head. "And that means trouble! For everybody!"

AAA

Face didn't want to be taken back to the _joy room_ , but he understood Hannibal was right: if the psycho had ordered it, he better not try to hide from him. Besides, what was that maniac going to do now? A few more punches? Beat him up with that cane, or put it back in his wound? Sure he could stand that shit one more time, couldn't he? Hmmm… Maybe. But only that, because he didn't want to think on the other alternatives... No, Hannibal was coming; that kind of shit could not happen now!

He sighed deeply, with his eyes closed, and even that gentle movement of his rib cage hurt. _Shit. How the hell am I going to do this?_

"OK, take me there, if you must, before that weirdo has a tantrum," he said, trying to sound confident, but who was he kidding? It was obvious he was terrified, and they knew it.

Tia and the sergeant helped him up, as gently as they could, but he cried and groaned in pain as they pulled him out of bed. He was too weak to walk, so they had to support him all the way, as he dragged his feet behind, hissing and complaining along the corridor, cringing whenever he heard Murdock's cries. Tia apologized several times for causing him so much pain, and in the end, he had to remind her she should handle him roughly when they got there, or it would look odd that these two soldiers treated their prisoner in such a careful, gentle way.

When the colonel tied him to the post, he struggled, chocking with the strap around his neck, which was way too tight, pressing on his throat, digging on his Adam's apple as he sagged down on his seat, as he was in too much pain and too weak to sit up straight. Then, when the psycho handled his fractured arm, he thought he was going to be sick again, and he gave up, wishing he could be dead already to avoid any more pain. Then, when Murdock complained, he wanted to tell him off, but he lacked the strength. However, when Shu punched his friend, and then showed him that hideous cane, this time stained with Murdock's blood, his rage returned, and that helped him to stay awake, and focused. If he wasn't going to make it, at least he should help Murdock to survive.

When the psycho left the cane on the table and left the room, he was greatly relieved, and despite his weakness, the pain, and the awkward position against his friend's back, when the others also left the room, he used his free right hand to unfasten the strap holding Murdock's wrists.

AAAAA


	13. Chapter 13

**Chapter 13**

"I'll free your hands so you can escape," Face said when he reached for the strap.

"Thanks, buddy," Murdock said when he felt his friend's shaky fingers tampering with his bonds, "but escaping on my own won't be a good idea. We have to wait for Hannibal and the big guy."

"I want you to be safe. Are you all right?

"Yes, I'm OK-ish. And you?"

"Been better. I can't wait to get out of here," Face said, pulling from the strap, groaning with the effort.

"Hold on. Hannibal will be here soon. Then we'll go."

"I know, but it's never soon enough!" Face said, grimacing, coughing when the strap around his neck dug deeper, as he lowered his body a bit more to unfasten the buckle.

When he got his hands free, Murdock also struggled to undo the strap around his ankles, stretching his arms and his aching, refreshed wound, groaning and grimacing as his friend had done until he managed to release that strap too. When Face tried to unfasten the strap on his neck, Murdock advised against it.

"We should leave the strap on our necks on, so the psycho doesn't notice we unfastened the rest. We can undo them quickly if we have to."

"I can't breathe!" Face complained, coughing again.

"Come on, Face, try to get up a bit. You can do it."

"OK, OK," Face said, hissing as he straightened up his torso. "I'll loosen it a bit only then." He released the strap and fastened the buckle again two holes down. "Aaah, that's better."

"All right, I'll do the same. Mine is also quite tight."

"That sergeant with the black eye is helping us now, you know? And we are getting out in that helicopter. Can you handle it?"

"The Huey? If that bastard had not pierced my shoulder with that damn cane, maybe I could have! I hope Harlow can do it, because every time I move my arm now, my shoulder hurts like hell."

"Yes, that's the plan. Tia went to tell Harlow they have to get hold of that chopper when Hannibal shows up."

Face groaned then, slouching again, and coughed up a bit more.

"Shit, I don't think I can hold on much longer, pal! And if I faint, I will choke here with this damn thing!"

"Face, it is time for you to dissociate, to go to a safe place in your head, and stay there until this is over. It shouldn't take long now."

"I told you I can't do that. I wish I could."

"OK, do it as you can, but stay awake. Think of the hospital, and the nice nurses. You'll be there soon. Keep your focus on that. Or find something else that keeps you sharp, whatever it is."

"I'll try."

The sergeant with the black eye returned quickly then, looking agitated, and took his position. Shortly after, Colonel Shu and a short, overweight and sweaty man that seemed to be in command, also returned to the _joy room_. On his sleeve, Face recognized the flashing stripes and stars of a General.

Shu grabbed the cane from the table, and waved the bloodstained tip in front of Face again.

"You are going to tell me who's that man with the white hair, where he is, and what are his plans. And you are going to tell me now!"

The sight of Murdock's blood raised his anger again. If he could not use Murdock's technique to dissociate his mind and flee from reality, at least he could use his old-time favourite to deal with that kind of situation: defiance. And hatred. He should focus on his hatred, even if that would get him killed. He was beyond caring, and at least, that would buy Murdock some time.

"That man with the white hair is Frank Sinatra's little brother. He came to this shithole country on a tour, to sing his favourite song: _I did it… myyy wayyy_ ," Face sang weakly, imitating _The Voice_ quite badly. "Which is usually reckless, using the front door, but it's damn effective, and…"

That comment earned him a hard punch on his mouth and a split lip matching Murdock's.

 _Not in the face! We need his face!_ Murdock though, wishing his friend would shut up, or that he could do something to stop the beating. He had just advised Face to focus on something to stay awake, and he knew what he had chosen: irritating the bastard. His favourite, deadly game.

"Didn't you learn anything yesterday? Didn't you have enough of this?" Shu shouted, red-faced with anger, hitting Face several times with the cane. At least today, the colonel had a smidge of satisfaction, because that impertinent fool howled in pain with each blow.

"Leave him alone!" Murdock cried, but the psycho ignored him while he beat his friend up.

"All right, we'll try something new then," Shu said while Face choked with the strap, with his head dangling forward, fighting to stay awake.

There was a small coal fire burning in a corner of the room, in what it looked like a portable barbeque, and Shu sank the tip of a long knife in there.

"A barbeque! Nice. Can I have a burger, please? Easy on the ketchup, no pickles," Murdock said, still trying to get the colonel's attention so he would stop torturing Face.

That comment infuriated Shu even more, and he punched Murdock again, first on his abdomen, and then on his already black, left eye, a blow that shut his mouth for a while, at least for as long as it took for the knife to get hot.

"I'm appalled by your interrogation techniques," the General said then. "This is a joke. They should have told you something by now."

"They will, in a moment," Shu said, impatient, grabbing the knife as soon as it was hot enough. He approached Face with it, in the same way as he had done with General Fulbright.

"Son of a bitch, leave him alone!" Murdock cried again. "He's nearly out already, and burning him will get you nowhere!"

The American Lieutenant was barely conscious, with his head lolling forward, choking with the strap, and it was true, probably it wasn't going to make a damn difference burning his handsome face or not, other than for personal satisfaction, because Shu would not get any info from that man that way. The general was watching his every move, so he decided against it.

"What do you mean? Should I treat you to this, then?" Shu said, turning to face Murdock.

"No, not, really. But you could stick that thing up your tooshie if you want!"

"Tooshie?"

"Yes, tooshie. That's the part of your anatomy surrounding your arsehole. _No habla usted inglés_?"

Murdock knew that antagonizing the psycho like that wasn't the greatest of the ideas, but that was enough to divert the attention from Face to himself again. After all, he had to do anything in his power to keep those glorious looks from any harm, not only for Face, but for the whole team, or better still, for the whole world! Some could consider that handsome face a World Heritage _Sight_ , that should be preserved intact at all costs. He could play the hero now, sacrificing one eye for the benefit of Humanity, and wear a pirate patch like Conley, no biggie.

Shu leaned over Murdock with a sadistic glee in his mean eyes then, and aimed to apply the ret-hot blade on his right eye. However, Murdock had released the strap a bit, and as it wasn't that tight around his neck anymore, the loony pilot managed to turn his head quickly at the last moment, and the hot blade landed on his temple, close to his ear, and not on his eye. Just as before, when Hannibal burned his bleeding wound, he heard a sizzle and the offensive smell of burnt flesh hit him hard. Once again, the pain was unbearable, so he howled and wriggled to get away from the burning blade.

"Now, tell me, where are your friends? Where is the one with the white hair?" Shu insisted.

Murdock kept wriggling and screaming, while Shu kept pressing on, but he didn't say anything.

"Talk now, or I won't fail to burn your pretty eye next! Or better still, I'll burn his!" Shu said, holding the red-hot knife in his right hand, turning back towards Face, as he had already figured out that with these two it would be easier to injure the other one to make them comply.

"No, wait. I'll tell you!" Murdock said, panting and grimacing with the pain, talking super-fast then, in random bouts in between deep breaths. "The man with the white hair is not Frank Sinatra's brother... He's Rambo's cousin, and he's on the jazz... His name is Hannibal, but he rides no elephant but a Mustang… and he's coming to kill you, but I don't know where he is… Well, actually, his cousin Rambo said: _"Murdock, I'm coming to get you!"_ so I hope he hurries up!... But that Murdock in the movie is a twat, not like yours truly... Me, I would never leave my guys behind. Or Hannibal… because Aquamaniac never leaves anybody behind in a muddy puddle!"

"What the hell are you talking about?!" Colonel Shu cried, extremely annoyed by all that gabbling, about to blow a gasket, grabbing Murdock by the neck. "Shut up! You make no sense at all! Shut up!"

Murdock ignored him and carried on talking nonsense fast, irritating the Colonel even further.

"He's coming to get me, and he's bringing cookies, and a chocolate milkshake! He promised… So, basically, you are screwed… but maybe you'll be safe, after all, because his grandma always told him he shouldn't engage in mental combat with the unarmed, and…"

"Stop it right now!"

"You should say: _Quit the jibba jabba, sucka'!"_ Face said, lifting his head slowly to look at Shu through his squinted, bruised eyes, dragging his words with great effort, but matter-of-factly, as if trying to help. "That's always more effective to shut his trap."

Colonel Shu was perplexed. He had never encountered two fools that would carry on antagonizing him like that despite the torture. Either they were morons, or they had balls of steel. Then he thought that maybe he was lost in translation. Maybe he didn't understand them because English was not his first language, even if he was fluent with it. Yes, it could be that. Because their behaviour made zero sense to him.

"I can't stand this anymore!" the General said in Vietnamese. "These men won't tell you shit, Colonel! It's obvious they are well trained, professionals, and they are leading you on, for fuck sake!"

"I think I can still get…" Shu started, annoyed, but the short-tempered General cut him off.

"Sod it! I'll bang the pretty one now, and then we'll kill them all!"

Face didn't understand him, but Murdock did. He looked at the sergeant, who shook his head, and put a hand on his gun holster, as if reassuring him that would not happen, but that man looked overwhelmed by the situation, not knowing what to do.

The same soldier that came before to announce the General's arrival, came back to inform Colonel Shu of the situation in the village. They've got the news of an attack, where most of the troops had been killed, with only three survivors, who were injured. All weapons, ammunition, and one of the trucks armed with a machinegun were missing, and according to the villagers, the attackers had probably headed their way.

Colonel Shu growled then, livid, and ordered an emergency Code 1 in the compound. As the soldier left, he unfastened the strap on Face's neck, jerked him up, and dragged him to the table, where he slammed his torso on the hard surface.

"Take him now if you have to, but hurry up, because I can't wait to put a bullet in his head!" he shouted in Vietnamese.

Soon, the alarm sirens blasted on all over the compound, calling all the soldiers ready for action.

AAA

It took Tia much longer than intended to give the POWs the message to get hold of the helicopter by any means after Hannibal's offensive started, because she could not get near them until one of the other soldiers moved away, to talk to the other guard, nodding towards the helicopter, that had landed in the pad nearby.

As she returned to the _joy room,_ she heard the general ordering to kill all the American soldiers. She went back down the corridor again a short distance from the door, with the walkie talkie in her hand, and cried out a hurried message.

"Hannibal! You have to come in right now! They are going to kill them!"

A soldier came running her way then, and she hid the walkie talkie. She heard him relating the attack on the village to the colonel, and when he came out, he ran down the hallway again, to press the alarm button in there, close to the door. Soon, there was chaos, with the deafening, loud noise of the sirens, and soldiers running everywhere, getting ready.

 _Shit, shit, shit!_ she thought, grabbing her rifle, hesitating in that corridor while soldiers kept running past her, not knowing what to do.

AAA

"It's gonna get heavy, isn't it?" B.A said, with his hands gripping the steering wheel so hard his knuckles hurt, with his gold rings digging on the flesh.

"I'm not going to say this will be _a piece of cake_ , no," Hannibal said, taking his position at the back of the truck.

"Good, because if you dare, man, I swear I'll smash your face! Every time you say that, someone gets hurt! Every time!"

"OK, calm down, B.A. That's why I'm not saying it! This will be _no_ piece of cake. This will be hard as hell. Happy now?"

"Yes! Because that's more realistic! Bring it on!" B.A cried, teasing the pedal a few times, so the engine roared in readiness.

"Well, I think by now, Tia must have had enough time to tell the POWs about the helicopter. Let's go," Hannibal said, adjusting his black leather gloves.

Right then, Tia's voice came through the walkie talkie, loud and clear.

"Hannibal! You have to come in right now! They are going to kill them!"

Hannibal shook the long end of the head band out of the way, off his face, biting his cigar so hard he crushed it under his clenched jaw.

"Let it rip, B.A!" he cried, holding onto the heavy machinegun handles as B.A hit it. The truck lounged forward, getting up to top speed during the short distance that separated them to the entrance, to ram and burst the barrier open. Their uninvited, grand entrance, clashed with the start of the alarms, and as the soldiers chased them, firing their weapons, Hannibal got trigger-happy, sending rounds of bullets everywhere as the truck made its way to the last building in the compound.

 _Damn it! It couldn't be the first one, oh, no, that'd be too easy for us! Because that'd be a fuckin' piece of cake!_ B.A cursed to himself, driving as fast as the truck would go.

When they got there, B.A stomped the brakes, and the truck screeched to a halt, skidding off the road and into the pavement, throwing Hannibal off balance. He misfired a round of bullets to the building then, with some ricocheting off the wall, and some coming through the windows, shattering the glass in a million pieces.

"B.A, take over!" he cried as he steadied himself.

B.A jumped out of the truck's cabin while Hannibal kept firing rounds to the approaching soldiers.

"Gimme that!"

Hannibal let go of the heavy machinegun, grabbed a lighter, more portable one, and jumped off the truck, rushing to the door.

"Where're you goin'? Shit, man! You're no fuckin' Rambo!" B.A shouted, shaking his head, while covering his boss. "You no damn Terminator either!" he added when Hannibal carried on shooting the incoming soldiers like a mean, killing machine, making his way in.

 _Who knows what that fool will do when he enters that building with no one to cover his back!_

B.A spotted the three American POWs then. When their guards got distracted, aiming their weapons at the truck, they attacked them with the tools they had at hand: a shovel, a spade, and a brick trowel, and with them, they overpowered the soldiers, snatching their sub-machineguns of their unconscious hands as they hit the floor. Armed with them, they headed for the helicopter, shooting anything that moved along their way. Hannibal had entered the building already, so B.A covered those guys so they could reach the helicopter in one piece, as bullets flew around them. One of them got hit in the back, but another one helped him to keep going, dragging him along.

 _Oh, shit! Not the pilot!_

They reached the helicopter, killed the pilots, and took over, storming into the cockpit. One of the uninjured men put the helmet on, and started the engine. As the rotor blades got spinning, more soldiers arrived in trucks, also firing from mounted machineguns, similar to B.A's.

B.A got under fire from these weapons, and had to duck behind his, while continued to shoot blindly. After all, other than the damn helicopter, it didn't matter what he would hit, as long as they didn't hit him, or Quang, who laid on the floor, by the pedals, curled up into a ball, covered in pieces of shattered glass, with bullets ricocheting everywhere around him in the cabin.

B.A could not believe it when he saw the helicopter taking off, heading away from the compound.

"You, ungrateful bastards! Come back here, suckers!" he cried while shaking his fist at the POWs. The soldiers were closing in, firing at him with all they got, so he ducked even lower behind the heavy machinegun and opened fire again, aiming randomly, thinking that, inevitably, they would all die that day.

 _Damn "classic frontal attack", half-pincer shit!_

AAA

When the psycho colonel slammed his battered torso and fractured arm against the table top, Face cried, out of breath, seeing black dots, but he fought hard to stay awake, avoiding the inviting dark zone this time.

"Hold him down!" Shu ordered to the sergeant, who hesitated with a hand at his holster.

When the sergeant swallowed hard, and made a move for the gun, the colonel reached for his own as fast as a mad cowboy in a western film, and shot the sergeant on the head, this time for real. Murdock was so shocked and horrified by the whole scene that for once, he didn't say a peep.

"I knew you were a fucking traitor!" the psycho said, kicking the dead man's body.

While Shu tied Face's right hand with a rope, and pulled hard to secure it to a hook at the edge of the table, the sirens went off, and there was a commotion outside, when the soldiers ran to their positions.

Face didn't understand their exchange in Vietnamese, but it didn't matter. He knew perfectly well what would happen now: the fat, ugly, sweaty bastard in command would rape him, and he was so weak there would be no need for anyone to pin him down this time. That single rope would do nicely to restrain him.

When General Nguyen approached his rear end, Face tried to put up a fight, struggling when he reached for his trousers.

"No! Get off me, fucking bastard!" he shouted, but to keep him quiet, the large man only needed to slam his back once, crushing him back on the table. Face stood still then, stunned, but growling softly in frustration, with angry tears of humiliation running down his cheeks. When the general finally managed to pull down his trousers and underwear, slapping his naked arse with excited anticipation, Face heard the ra-ta-ta-ta-tat of a powerful machine gun and a roaring truck approaching. Then, a round of bullets shattered the windows, and some of them flew by, over his back. The General cried when several bullets hit his chest, and he fell to the floor, writhing in pain, producing a harsh, gurgling sound of stridors as his airways filled up with blood.

As the bullets flew in, Colonel Shu hit the ground quickly, and none of the slugs hit him. Miraculously, none of them hit Murdock either, whizzing by him and the post he was tied to.

Exasperated, and with the gun still in his hand, when Shu heard the machine gun aiming somewhere else, he stood up quickly, aiming at Face's head, but as he fired, Murdock, free from the straps now, jumped on him, tackling him back to the ground, and his bullet missed the target.

Ignoring his wounds, Murdock fought the psycho colonel as best he could under the circumstances, with an adrenaline rush, but as they rolled on the floor, he could not take the gun off his strong grip.

Someone was at the corridor, outside the door, firing another machine gun, and Face lifted his head and cried then, at the top of his lungs, with his last reserve of energy.

"Hannibal!"

AAAAA

 **A.N – Thank you very much guys for the nice reviews, and for your support. Always good to see some of the silent readers finally saying something!**

 **I hoped you enjoyed this action-packed chapter. More to follow. (I love writing action scenes, one of my favourites, with or without torture and maiming of the characters.)**

 **And, sorry for the cliffie, but I had to cut this chapter somewhere, to keep it close to the average 3000 words, ha! ;)**


	14. Chapter 14

**Chapter 14**

A bullet grazed B.A's arm, but he carried on firing, unfazed, roaring mad with anger as the ammo got dangerously low, getting to the last rounds of bullets.

Suddenly, there was a burst of gunfire coming from above, ricocheting on the ground at both sides of the truck, and into the approaching enemy, then the helicopter whizzed past him really close, with a deafening, thundering sound of the rotor blades.

The hail of bullets hit the soldiers and their vehicles, creating chaos and hell, even more when the POW pilot fired some missiles and rockets, hitting the other trucks and some buildings, destroying most of the compound, except the building closer to B.A, where all the prisoners were kept. The next time the helicopter made a close turn and passed closed by, B.A looked at the pilot, who was laughing like a raving Murdock in one of his best days, having a ball, enjoying the pay-back time.

 _Brilliant, another crazy fool at the stick! Are they all the same? Don't they get their pilot licence unless they are mental?_

"Quang! Lie low!" he cried, jumping off the truck carrying a lighter machinegun like Hannibal's, following his steps into the building, now that the path had been cleared for him.

AAA

When Harlow got the helicopter up, he had a hard time to control it, despite the fact he had handled the same or very similar models during the war, because he had not touched the controls of an aircraft for such a long time, and this was an improved, more modern version, a large helicopter heavily loaded with ammo. Initially, they headed away from the compound, when Harlow didn't intend to, but soon he got the hang of the controls, during a short, mini-practice flight, and they returned, opening fire against the approaching soldiers, that were showering that black man in the truck with bullets.

"Take that, motherfuckers!" Harlow cried, when the first burst of bullets came out.

"Kill them all. No mercy," Scott said softly, slouched in his seat, with a blood stain spreading fast on his chest, while Conley applied pressure to it.

"Use the missiles! Hit them with all you got!" Conley said. "Hold on, Bob. You'll be all right!" he added, but his worried voice lacked conviction. That wound looked pretty serious.

The helicopter whizzed by, over the truck, and made a sharp turn when Harlow jerked the stick, firing the first missile. When the building he aimed at blew up, they all cheered crazily, even the dying man.

"Awesome! More! Come on, shoot the trucks! Give them hell!" Conley cried.

"We should have taken this bird a long time ago!" Harlow said, firing again, blowing up the truck closer to B.A's, annihilating the machinegun that was giving him so much grief.

They had the time of their lives, watching the soldiers scrambling over the compound, trying to take cover from the non-stop hail of bullets coming from the sky, while the loud noise of the emergency sirens still filled the air. So many years after the war, the whole prison no longer had effective weapons to repel an aerial attack like that, coming from a fully-armed helicopter, so it was a piece of cake for the POWs to take over the compound.

AAA

Hannibal was running purely on the jazz, with his judgement totally overridden by the adrenaline.

"You're no fuckin' Rambo!" he heard B.A saying.

 _The hell I'm not!_ he thought while shooting down the first soldier that came his way, walking over that dead body like an unstoppable bulldozer, with Tia's words still resonating in his head: _"come in right now! They are going to kill them!"_

He carried on spitting bullets from that machinegun, hitting all the soldiers that came shooting at him on that corridor, as he searched for the right room, counting doors. He spotted Tia halfway down, frozen with her back against the wall, while soldiers and bullets kept passing by her, but when she aimed the rifle at him he thought that maybe he was mistaken and that was another soldier, and not her. She fired several times, and Hannibal jolted with a reflex, but he wasn't hit. He looked behind him, in time to see two soldiers dropping to the ground. _Great! She's covering my back, how nice._

Another soldier came behind her then, with his rifle up and ready to shoot her, but Hannibal fired another round from his machine gun, killing that man too.

She smiled, giving him a thump up, and then he heard a desperate cry, the familiar voice of Face calling him from behind the nearest door.

"Hannibal!"

He kicked that door and entered the room, while Tia stayed on the corridor, guarding it. The first thing he saw, was Murdock fighting Colonel Shu on the floor, on their knees. Then, when he saw Face, battered and tied to a table, with his trousers down, he went mad.

Colonel Shu had a gun, and while they fought for it, it was getting too close to Murdock's head. When Murdock saw his boss, he quickly let go of that man's arm and jumped away, rolling on the floor, so Hannibal could fire safely. Without hesitation, before that deranged man could shoot his boys, Hannibal pressed the trigger to riddle that body with bullets, the last ones left in that weapon. Out of ammo, he tossed the empty machinegun away, grabbing his pistol. While growling, out of his mind with rage, he approached the moribund, injured General that lied on the floor behind Face with his trousers unzipped, and shot him multiple times, wasting half the magazine on him. Not happy with that, he got back to fire a few more shots on Colonel Shu, who was already dead, ending up with an angry, biter cry of frustration, and a mighty kick to his side.

"Captain, are you alright?" he said, tending for him first, as he was closer, offering his hand to get him off the floor, but Murdock didn't take it, nodding towards his friend.

"Don't worry about me, Colonel. Help him first."

Hannibal rushed to Face then. He could not believe the state he was in. If he had known, he would have never suggested Tia to take Face there, to that chamber of horrors. The picture of that injured man tied to that table would be another ghastly image that would get stuck in his mind, imprinted forever, something he would never be able to erase or undo. Like when he found him in a similar state at the POW camp. And he would never forgive himself for allowing that to happen again.

First, he cut the rope holding his good arm, and then walked around the table, behind him, kicking and pushing the general's body out of the way. Doing so, when the body rolled away, the plastic bag with the dog tags fell off his pocket. Recognizing the items inside, Hannibal picked it up, keeping the bag safe in his own pocket. Then, he pulled Face's underwear and trousers up, fastening them, mildly relieved when he didn't see any blood at the back end, and he got him off that table, supporting him in his arms because he was too weak to stand up.

"I got you, Kid, I got you! It's over now!"

"It's so good to see you, Rambo," Face mumbled, looking at him with a weary, washed-out smile, until his eyes rolled back, going limp, unable to fight the dark zone anymore.

B.A arrived then, storming in.

"You alright, guys?"

"B.A, take Face! I'll help Murdock!"

B.A took the fainting Face in his strong arms then, while Hannibal got Murdock back on his feet.

"Captain, can you walk if you lean on me?" he said, also appalled by the state of his pilot, who had an eye so black and swollen he could hardly see with it.

"I think so, Colonel. I'll try. Give us a hand."

With the adrenaline-rush completely over now, Murdock suddenly felt worn-out, dizzy, and very wobbly on his feet when the colonel pulled him up, with a throbbing pain in his injured shoulder and over the burn on his temple, but he was too willing to get out of there to complain about anything. Hannibal could drag him out by the nearly burnt ear, for all he cared, as long as he took him away from that hell.

"Tia, you cover us! Let's go!"

They got out of that building and waved to the helicopter, which Harlow landed close to the truck. B.A ran to it first, lifting Face onto the back cabin. Hannibal followed him, helping Murdock, and while B.A lifted the loony pilot up, Hannibal went back to the truck to help Quang. The healer was still lying in the truck's cabin floor, covered in pieces of glass and debris, but none of the bullets had hit him. Tia helped him to lift her friend to the cabin too, and climbed up herself.

Some of the remaining soldiers had taken cover, and started firing at them from different positions. Harlow could not repel that attack on the helicopter from the ground, so Hannibal got hold of another machine gun and stayed at the stirrup, with his feet on the landing skid, returning fire.

"Let's go!" B.A cried through the intercom when everybody got up, bracing himself for flying, especially after crashing a helicopter only two days ago. But, this was one of the rare occasions he didn't mind too much to be taken away from danger by air.

Harlow got the chopper up, while the soldiers and Hannibal crossed fire. As they got away, one of their bullets hit Hannibal's right leg, and he lost his balance. He slipped off the stirrup, but as he fell, he managed to get hold of the landing gear as the helicopter flew away, over the jungle.

"Shit. Hannibal!" B.A cried, dropping to the floor, fighting his overwhelming fear of flying to look over the edge, extending his hand, but he could not reach him. "Come on, man, get up!"

He had done it a thousand times before, but his time, the older man struggled to climb up the bar, and he looked at him with an eerie calm while his gloved hands slip off the bar little by little, until he fell off, crashing on top of the trees.

"NOOOO!"

B.A stood up quickly and grabbed the interphone again.

"Go back! The colonel fell off!"

"Where?" Harlow voice came through the intercom speaker.

"Down there, in the jungle! Go back!"

The helicopter made a sharp turn and hovered over the trees.

"I can't see him! If he fell on the trees, I can't land there! We may have to go!" Harlow said.

"Are you nuts?! We ain't going nowhere without Hannibal! Go back!"

"Back where? Can anybody see him?" Harlow said looking down as the helicopter covered the ground slowly. Tia, Conley, and B.A also looked for Hannibal, one at each side of the helicopter, but nobody could see him in that sea of green.

"Drop me outside the prison, and keep covering for us! I'll find him!"

Harlow manoeuvred the helicopter, turning back to the prison.

"Wait for us! Don't you dare leavin' us behind!" B.A said with a growl.

"Hurry up then!"

The helicopter hovered close to the ground and B.A jumped off, carrying Tia's rifle, heading for the jungle.

Harlow got the chopper up again, and carried on shooting to keep the remaining soldiers at bay inside the compound. B.A had to hurry up, because they would have called for reinforcements, and more helicopters or even fighter jets would be on their way by now, and he didn't fancy a full air-combat with any other aircraft. That would be too much for one day.

AAA

Hannibal felt the sharp pain of a bullet piercing his thigh, above the knee. He lost his footing, and out of balance, he fell from the stirrup. He panicked, but managed to get hold of the landing skid at the last moment. He had been hanging like that from a flying helicopter many times before, and now he only needed to hoist himself up, and climb back into the cabin. Easy. However, when he tried to pull himself up to pass his elbow over the bar, he couldn't, and at his age, lifting the good leg that high from that position was also out of the question.

Damn. He was too weak already, after the two intense days of thrills, and his body gave up on him, with no more adrenaline left to spur him up.

He cursed his bad luck, because he had been about to say his catch phrase as they flew away, and now the plan not only didn't come together, it went totally tits up for him. Maybe he took the role of Rambo too far, and he shouldn't had stayed exposed on the stirrup like that, while the bullets flew around him, with that fearless, "all macho" pose. Maybe, but it was too late to regret it now.

B.A tried to help him, reaching out with his hand, but he was too far away to grab it. Maybe it was for the best: one less injured body for B.A to worry about, because he had enough on his plate with Face, Murdock and Quang.

He looked at him as calmly as he could, as a kind of farewell, because he didn't think he could survive that inevitable fall, while his worn-out leather gloves slipped off the cold metal slowly but surely, until he couldn't hold on anymore, and he fell off.

After a few meters of free fall, he hit the first branch, followed by multiple others. It felt like being beaten all over by a mob of maniacs with clubs, which did nothing good to his busted ribs. He cried out when one of the branches pierced his side and snapped, and that large portion of wood stayed in there, embedded in his muscles. At least, all those bumps helped to slow him down, and when he finally hit the ground, instead of getting totally squashed, he survived the crash with only a dislocated shoulder and a fractured leg.

He didn't get knocked out on impact, which was a kind of a miracle, and a bittersweet occurrence: that way, he could try to do something about his predicament, but his whole body hurt like hell.

His first consolation was that at least, the fractured leg was the same one shot on, and he still had a good leg to try to walk on. That's it, if he was strong enough to get on his feet. Which he wasn't. He didn't dare to move, because it hurt too much when he tried.

He wished B.A would be wise and give up on him, taking the others to safety, but he knew that would be very unlikely. He could hear the helicopter hovering over him, but could not see it, so he doubted they would be able to see him either.

Too stunned and shocked to think clearly, he just lay there as the minutes went by, until he heard the crack of one of the walkie-talkies. He scolded himself, because he didn't think about using them to let the others know he was alive, and took his time to reach for it, taking it out of his pocket with a shaky hand.

AAA

B.A travelled a reasonable distance over the jungle until he felt he should be close to the area where Hannibal had fallen, but he couldn't find him. He called for him a couple of times, and got no answer. Then, he remembered he still had the walkie-talkie in his pocket.

"Hannibal, where are you?" B.A cried over the two-way speaker, hoping he wasn't unconscious and he could guide him somehow to his location. "Hannibal!"

It took a long while but he eventually got a reply, in the form of a weak and wishy-washy: "B.A, I'm here."

"Where are you, man? Are you all right?"

"I'm lying on the ground… surrounded by trees… all I can see…" that feeble, broken voice said very slowly, as if he was drunk, and with great effort, tinged with pain, "…with a dislocated shoulder… a broken leg, which is also bleeding like a fountain… and a few more niggles…" he said while looking at the piece of wood sticking out of his side. "I'm peachy. And you? Flying away to freedom?"

"I'm down here, lookin' for you, fool! The pilot's waitin' with the chopper. Do some noise or something, man, so I can find you! Quick! Shout!"

"I can hardly move, or talk, B.A. Don't ask me to shout, please," was Hannibal's calm and faint reply. "Wait a second."

Hannibal reached for the other handset and called Tia.

"Tia, do you copy?"

"Hannibal! Are you OK?"

"OK-ish, but B.A can't find me. Can you keep talking, or make a lot of noise, so B.A can hear you? Thanks."

"What do I say?" Tia said, looking at Murdock.

"Give me that. I'll do it." Murdock said, sitting up at the crew cabin, with his back resting on the back panel, reaching for the walkie-talkie.

Hannibal cranked up the volume, and Murdock's deep voice blasted through the jungle, scaring away all the birds and wildlife.

"One, two, three… One, two, three… Biiiigggg guuuyyyy, foooollow the sound of my wooonderful, alluring voice! The one you looove above all things on Earth, the voice that drives you nuuuts and insane, the voice you cannot live without, and find the colonel, to return him to us safe and sound… I command you, B.A! Find him! Fiiiiind hiiiim!"

"Is that good enough?" Hannibal said over the other handset. "Can you hear that, B.A?"

"Oh, man, couldn't that be someone else but the fool! He gets in my head like a drill bit!"

With the help of that non-stop prattle, it didn't take long for B.A to come across Hannibal.

"Oh, man. Shit. Look at you!"

Hannibal was covered in cuts and bruises, with his clothes in tatters; the gunshot wound in his thigh was bleeding profusely, as he said; and he looked ghastly pale, in shock, moving as slowly as a sloth.

"I told you! You're no Rambo! No more Rambo business!" B.A cried, jerking Tia's headband off his head to make a tourniquet above the wound, tying the band as tight as he could, while Hannibal cried out in pain. "OK, what's the damage?"

"Busted ribs again, dislocated right shoulder, and I think that leg you just strangulated is also broken," he said with his left hand covering his eyes, trying not to pant, whimper or cry. At least, not too much.

"Shit, I'll carry you then. But don't complain about them ribs!"

"You are bleeding," Hannibal said, looking at his arm.

"That's nothing. _You_ , are bleeding, fool, not me! Come on, I'll get you on my shoulder. We have to hurry up."

"OK, but try not to disturb this too much," Hannibal said, opening his jacket to show him the piece of wood stuck on his side, sticking out of his bloodstained shirt.

"Holy fuck! Jesus, man! How did you get that there?"

"Trees, remember?" Hannibal said, pointing up. "I hit a million branches on the way down, and one of them stuck with me."

"Let me pull it."

"I think it will be better if we don't touch it. Let the doctors do it, if you get me to a hospital in time."

Murdock was still talking nonsense over the speaker, driving B.A mental, stressed as he was, even without the jibba-jabba. He grabbed the walkie-talkie first, and ordered Murdock to shut up, but as he carried on jabbing, with his finger on the button, oblivious to any incoming messages, he gave up and just put the volume down.

"Damn fool! He's givin' me a fuckin' headache! Come on, let's go!"

He struggled to lift Hannibal on his shoulder without disturbing that wound, while the older man grunted and complained, obviously in a lot of pain. When he got him up, more of less stable on his shoulder, he walked as fast as he could back to the prison, guided by the helicopter noise. He could not believe the whole team was down now, and he was the only one still standing.

AAAAA


	15. Chapter 15

**Chapter 15**

Murdock was very anxious about the colonel, but still, he couldn't resist to put up a show to annoy B.A while he searched for him. After a short while, he grew tired of his own non-stop jabbing, feeling quite weak and light-headed again. Fearing he could faint, he quickly passed the handset back to Tia, lying down on the helicopter floor, wedged between Face, who was still unconscious, and Quang, who at least was feeling better, and was trying to sit up. If anything, that helicopter looked like an overcrowded air ambulance full of casualties, and hopefully, it should get another patient soon, if B.A would hurry up to find their C.O.

Murdock could not believe Hannibal got shot and had fallen off the chopper. How the hell did that happen? One minute he was playing Rambo, looking indestructible, and the next, he was down.

Hannibal was alive, and he sounded alright when he called them, but surely he had to be badly injured after that free fall and crash, let alone the gunshot wound in his leg! As cool as always, when Tia asked him, Hannibal said he was _"Ok-ish."_ But, how bad it was, really? What would be the outcome of that nasty fall?

"Ask Hannibal what's happening. Did B.A find him? Is he all right? Damn, I feel so worn-out now! Too much talking. Way too much talking! And I sound so… _nasal,_ " Murdock said, disgusted, touching his swollen, broken nose. "Not like me, more like my French chef alter ego."

"Yes, I didn't want to say it, but… you _do_ talk when you talk!" Quang said, tapping his arm gently, looking relieved too because he had finally shut up.

Tia was checking on Face, who hadn't moved since they got him out of the building, totally unresponsive but still breathing regularly. She stood up then, talking on the walkie-talkie Murdock had handed over.

"Hannibal, this is Tia. What happened? Did he find you? Are you all right?"

It took a while, but eventually B.A's grumpy voice came through the speaker. He sounded breathless, as if making a great, strenuous effort while he talked.

"I found him. He's in a very bad shape, but alive. I'm taking him back to the helicopter now. ETA five minutes. Be ready."

"OK."

"You should say _Roger_ ," Murdock said.

"OK, B.A. Roger, OK?" Tia said to the handset then, putting a smile back on Murdock's face.

"Now, get that intercom and tell Harlow they'll be here in about five minutes, thanks. And he is the one who should say _roger_ now, not you. Don't get too excited with the _rogering._ "

AAA

"Damn it. I don't think he's going to make it," Conley said, wretched and overwhelmed by the sorrow, and well as the anger, because it was so unfair to die like that, so close to freedom. Scott had passed out, his pulse was very fast, and feeble, and he could not control the haemorrhage. "He would have a better chance to get to a hospital if he lay down, I think, although quite a slim one."

"Shit! Life is a bitch. So many years waiting to be free, only to check out like this at the last minute! What a…. Aaarghh!" Harlow said, growling in frustration, biting his own fist to stop himself from shouting a string of profanities. "Do you want to move him to the back? I can land again. And I think you should stay there with him. With all of them. We got so many injured guys back there, this looks like an air ambulance."

"Yes. Go on, land if it's safe, and I'll move him."

"It will be safe, at least briefly. Can you ask Murdock to move up here, if he's up to it?"

"Why? Do you need help to handle this bird? You've done pretty well so far on your own."

"Not at the moment, but I may do if we get in trouble later. They may send more helicopters after us."

"OK, I'll tell him."

Harlow fired another round into the compound and landed outside, protected by the external wall. Conley got out and carried Scott to the back, placing him on the floor, beside Face.

"Shit. Is he dead?" Murdock said.

"No. At least not yet. How are you doing? Harlow suggested that you sit at the cockpit with him, in case he needs your help later."

Murdock hesitated, looking at Face. Conley realized, and tried to put his mind at ease.

"Don't worry. I'll take care of your friend. He's out, so he won't miss you too much."

"OK, then. I still feel a bit dizzy, but if you look after Facey for me, I think I'll be alright to sit up with Harlow and watch the action. Boy, I thought he'd never ask!"

Conley helped him to move to the cockpit then. By the time he returned to the back, B.A arrived.

"Gimme a hand here!" he shouted, out of breath.

Conley helped him to lift Hannibal into the cabin, and when B.A climbed up, Conley got to the intercom.

"We got that Hannibal! Let's get the hell out of here!"

"Roger that. Off we go," Harlow said into his mouth piece. Then, he talked to Murdock only. "The big guy delivered your friend."

Murdock put the other helmet on, ignoring the pain on the burned skin, and rushed to switch on the intercom.

"How is he?" Murdock said while the helicopter took off.

"I don't know yet," Conley said. "But he doesn't look too good."

"Conley, close the doors. I don't want anybody else falling off," Harlow said. "And you should all buckle up, just in case this ride gets rough."

"Roger that. Closing doors."

"Where are we heading? What's the plan?" Harlow asked Murdock.

"Shit, I don't know! The guy with the plan is always Hannibal. We have a plane waiting for us in Hanoi, and that was the initial plan, to return to the US in that plane, but I don't know now. We should take them to a hospital first."

Conley and B.A closed one door each, and then they checked on Hannibal, who was still conscious, but barely.

"Prop me up a bit against that panel, please," Hannibal said. "Gently… Thanks."

He groaned as they followed his orders, panting as he rested against the wall, right below the intercom.

"You alright?" B.A said.

Hannibal closed his eyes and nodded slowly. He took a minute to collect himself, and then he spoke, calmly, trying to sound as normal as possible, in control of his respiratory rate.

"I have to tell you about the plan, B.A, because I don't think I'll be around much longer."

"Don't say that, man! You won't die! You'll be alright!"

"I have no intention of dying yet, B.A, but I may pass out. Well, I know I will, soon, so listen carefully: we…" He stopped then, thinking, and changed tack. "Give me the intercom first. Well, you hold it for me, please."

B.A held the handset in front of his mouth, and press the button.

"This is Colonel Hannibal Smith. Who's flying this bird?"

"Colonel! I'm so glad you are all right!" Murdock said, excited.

"Yeah, me too, Captain, but unless you're flying this thing, let me talk to the pilot."

"This is Captain J.K Harlow, Sir."

"Captain Harlow, where are you heading?"

"North, to Hanoi, to get to your plane. But that's too far away. We'll never make it."

"No, we won't. Especially because I killed a general, and because you guys destroyed their precious prison. So, don't go to Hanoi, because they'll give you hell. We'll never make it to that plane now. Head west instead, to Thailand. Try to get to Bangkok, which is closer than Hanoi."

"Still too far away to make it with the fuel we have left, Sir."

"You'll have to find a petrol station in Cambodia."

"A petrol station, Sir?"

"Yes, Murdock knows."

"Yes, I do," he said, tapping his chest. "Easy. Free self-refuel!"

Harlow moved the stick and turned the helicopter to head west then.

"When you get to Bangkok, find the US embassy and land at their helipad. When the Thai Army intercept you, ask for clearance, stating you request an emergency landing in the only US "land" available, as there are no more US army bases operating in Thailand anymore. When they refuse, as they will, tell them you stole this Vietnamese helicopter when escaping from a prison camp. I am not sure if it would be better that you state you are special ops under General Fulbright's command or not, because I don't know what their reaction will be if you mention POWs at once on that first contact. In any case, ask for their help, looking distressed. No need to lie there, I think."

"General Fulbright… Special ops. OK."

"Also tell them you have a number of injured people here that need immediate medical attention at a hospital. They should get the ambulances ready before you land."

"Roger that."

"The most difficult part would be justifying your unauthorized presence through Cambodia. I don't have any suggestions for that, so be creative."

Harlow looked at Murdock, who just shrugged his shoulders. _Creative_. That meant: _"do anything in your power that will get us through."_

"Anything else?"

"No. I'll try to be active for as long as I can, but by the time we get there, I don't think I will be of much help to any of you. Good luck, Gentlemen. Over."

"Thank you, Colonel," Murdock said. "Take care, and don't worry. We are all going to make it. Over."

Murdock knew the colonel well enough to read between the lines. If he was telling them now about his plan in advance, in such a sketchy way, with that poised, calm voice, that could not hide his discomfort, it was because he was seriously fucked up and fighting to stay awake already. But, being Hannibal, he just couldn't say so, because in the twisted perception of his mind, he had to play the indestructible and cool C.O in charge of everything at all times, to keep the spirits up. In a way, he sometimes treated them like little kids. _His_ little kids. The ones he never had, the ones he felt he had to protect at all times, sometimes from the plain truth.

AAA

After that long conversation, Hannibal was exhausted, but he had to continue.

"So, the plan is to get to the US Embassy in Thailand…" B.A said. "What about us? They'll find out who we are the moment they get our prints on the computer!"

"We have to use this, and don't let them take our prints," Hannibal said, taking the dog tags from his pocket. "And you are…?" he said, looking at Conley.

"Major J.D Conley, Sir."

"Nice to meet you, Major. Check these dog tags, please. I think they are from you guys at that prison. If they are, you have to find a match for each of us, so we can pretend to be one of your mates, one of the POWs."

"Why?"

"Long story, B.A can tell you. I don't have much time." He looked very pale then, with his breathing getting more and more laboured, although it was obvious he was making a huge effort to keep it under control, and as B.A could check on his wrist, his pulse was racing, bounding, still compensating the shock, but it will soon become feeble. "I'm sorry, B.A, but you'll have to do all the smooth talking. I can't help you with that this time, and neither can Face."

"No, shit. I don't wanna do no smooth talkin'!"

"Maybe Murdock can help you."

"That fool? No way!"

Conley was checking the dog tags, and he confirmed they were theirs.

"Yes, our dog tags. This is mine," he said kissing it, hanging it on his neck for the first time in years.

"Remember, B.A: to fool the government, we'll have to learn all we can about these American soldiers, and pretend to be them until we can get back to the US. And you should tell them Tia and Quang are refugees that want to defect to the US. Tell them about General Fulbright solo mission to find his daughter and the POWs, and how he didn't make it. And if they wonder why we are not walking skeletons, like them, tell them you and I escaped a few months ago, and Quang helped us to hide and beefed us up. And three days ago, we joined the general on his crazy rescue plan. OK?"

B.A nodded, with a grunt, hardly following him.

Conley handed one of the tags to Hannibal then.

"I think you could be him. It could suit you: Brigadier General Arthur M. Everson. He escaped, but I don't know if he made it."

"That's the man I found in the jungle," Quang said. "He didn't make it, sorry. And yes, he looked a bit similar to you."

"I'm Brigadier General Everson. Cool," Hannibal said, taking the tag, passing the chain around his neck with B.A's help.

"You can be private Jackson," Conley said, handing over another dog tag to B.A.

"Private? I'm no private, fool! I'm a Sergeant!"

"Jackson suits you. If only because he was the only black guy in the group. You don't want to be… aaahhh, let's see," he said, taking another random tag from the bag. "Sergeant O'Rourke, who was red-haired Irish, do you? Forget about the ranks, please. I'm trying to give you an identity that may work!"

"Yes, you'll be Jackson," Hannibal said, closing his eyes again then, grimacing this time, when he had been hiding his pain quite well before.

"Can we leave the tags for later? We haven't check him over yet," B.A said.

"Yes, of course. Where's the medical kit?" Conley said, looking for it.

"Get me down, lying flat, please," Hannibal said, feeling very light-headed all of a sudden.

"I have the antibiotics and painkillers that soldier gave us for Face and Murdock," Tia said, retrieving the blisters from her uniform pocket.

"Yes, I forgot. What happened to that soldier that wanted to defect? Where is he?" Hannibal said from the floor, after B.A lowered him down gently.

"He died. I saw him on the floor with a shot to the head. I guess Colonel Shu killed him."

"Shame. OK, check for injectables at the medical kit; otherwise I'll take the pills."

"Let me have a look at him," Quang said, standing up to get to his side, carrying the small bag he had prepared with some of his medical supplies.

"Are you sure? You should be resting," Hannibal said.

"I rested a lot at the cabin of that truck while you played that Rambo hero," he said, checking the wound on his leg first. "Look, Tia. Your headband is so useful!" He removed the tourniquet, that had been in place too long already. The wound was still bleeding a bit, but not at an alarming rate as before. Quang handled the leg, poking and feeling the wound, and Hannibal could not play cool anymore, crying in pain when he did that.

"Yes, you can cry as much as you want, because that bullet is still in, and your femur is broken," Quang said, cutting his trousers to apply some dressings to the wound.

"Yes, I figured that much," Hannibal said, panting. "And the right shoulder is either fractured or dislocated."

"Can you sit up again?" Quang said when he finished with the dressings.

"If I must…"

"If I reposition the bones you'll feel better. And it should be done as soon as possible."

B.A held Hannibal sitting up again, supporting his weight, while Quang manipulated the shoulder. Hannibal groaned as he lifted the arm and rotated it into position, but then, he was utterly surprised when after only a few gentle, nearly painless manoeuvres, the humeral head fell back in place without much drama, and the area ceased to hurt so much immediately. He had dislocated his shoulder once before, and the doctor struggled to put it back in place, in a hellish experience of pain. Not this time.

"You really have magic hands, Quang. Thanks."

"You are welcome, but it's easy when you know what you are doing, with the proper technique. No magic involved," Quang said, applying his anti-inflammatory herbal ointment to Hannibal's shoulder, using the headband again to tie it around his wrist, and then around his neck, for support.

B.A gently lowered him down, until he rested on the floor again. Quang had a look at the wound on his side then, frowning at the piece of wood sticking out.

"I don't like that."

"Neither do I," Hannibal said.

"Welcome to the club," B.A said.

Conley was going through the supplies of the helicopter's medical kit when they heard Harlow's stressed voice on the intercom.

"Conley, are you all buckled up? We got company! This is going to be rough!"

"No! We are not ready! Give me a minute!" he shouted on the intercom. He put the medical kit to a side, and urged the others to move swiftly. "Come on, everybody on a seat with the harness on! Now!"

B.A and Conley moved Hannibal to a seat and fastened the harness, while Quang and Tia did the same with Face. Hannibal resented the pressure of the seat in his fractured leg, but he didn't complain too much. Face, still unconscious, couldn't care less.

"This man is dead," Quang said, checking Scott's pulse.

"Shit. He still needs to be strapped on, though," Conley said, moving Scott's limp body to another seat. When everybody had sat down, he rushed to the last available seat, close to the intercom, while the helicopter swerved from side to side, as Harlow tried to get away from the two attack helicopters that had caught up with them.

AAAAA


	16. Chapter 16

**Chapter 16**

"How do I get them off my tail?" Harlow said while jerking the stick, frantic, swinging and veering to the sides to avoid the gunfire. They had not one, but two Cobra attack helicopters giving chase, showering them with bullets and the occasional rocket, but none of them had hit the fast-moving target yet. "I can't even see them! Where are the rear-view mirrors in this thing?"

"You have to anticipate their moves, and try not to stay in the same spot for long. Swerve, but in a random pattern. Don't swing like a regular pendulum or they'll hit us!" Murdock said.

"Shit! I'm not a combat pilot! I flew on transport and rescue missions!"

"Calm down, you can do it. Use the radar and the HMD for info."

"The what?"

"The Helmet-Mounted Display."

"Yeah, I can see stuff flashing on my helmet visor, but I don't know what it means. I never had one of them before!"

"No, we didn't have these toys in 1972. Cool, ah?"

"Are you sure you can't handle this yourself?"

"Gee… I don't know. But I can guide you, sure. Trust me, I've done this before. Hannibal landed a plane once with my instructions, and he didn't have a clue."

"What should I do?"

Murdock looked through the starboard window and saw one of the helicopters approaching that side, with a gunman pointing the side cannon at them.

"Straight up, expedite!"

"What?"

"Vertical climb, NOW!"

There was a bit of a delay, but finally Harlow followed the instruction, and they avoided the burst of gunfire just in time. That delay showed Murdock that shouting orders that needed to be followed in a split second, wasn't going to work. Specially, when the alarms went off, after they flew away from that Cobra, leaving it quite behind on the radar.

"What's that? What's happening?" Harlow cried.

"Shit. Incoming IR-missile! That's why they let us go away so easily! To give them optimal range!"

"What can I do?"

"Countermeasures!" Murdock rushed to launch one of the flares, really glad the helicopter had them. It looked like that General liked to fly in style, in a modern, fully equipped chopper with the latest technology, and able to defend itself. "Port dive NOW!"

Murdock grabbed the stick over Harlow's grip and jerked it with his left hand, resenting the wound in his shoulder, because he doubted Harlow would react in time. The helicopter made a sharp, sudden turn, rotating on its axis, on a half-barrel roll, and dived down fast, seemingly out of control.

They heard the blast of the explosion when the infrared, heat-seeker missile followed the heat of the flare, above them, missing the primary target, and they got hit by a bright light that dazzled Murdock's good eye.

"Level it now!"

Harlow managed to do that, frightened by the whole situation, totally out of his comfort zone.

"How the hell did they get Sidewinders in those Cobras? They are cheating!" Murdock cried, enraged. "They are not supposed to carry those! They should only have TOW missiles, like us! Damn it!"

"Man, I don't know what's going on. I think you should fly this bird, I really do."

"Nah, you can do it," Murdock said, shaking his head, with the right hand on his wound. "I doubt my shoulder could handle this stress. It's killing me already."

"Shit, here they come again!" Harlow cried, trying an evasive manoeuvre when one of the Cobras opened fire again. Murdock grabbed the stick again and jerked it, resulting in a double barrel roll, and none of the projectiles hit them.

"Catch me if you can, suckers!" he said, imitating B.A's grumpy voice.

"This isn't a fighter jet! We're gonna crash if you keep doing that!" Harlow cried, letting go of the stick so Murdock could handle it as he pleased without interference, but as the injured pilot sat back on his seat, he grabbed it again.

"No. Lady Luck Airlines can't crash twice on the same week! We have a reputation to maintain!"

"You are mental!"

"Yes, I am! And certified as such, thanks!"

"What?"

"What-what-what… Why is that the only word that keeps coming out of your mouth?"

Murdock looked at the pilot, and recognized the distressed expression on his face: the look of someone that could not cope with the situation. The last time he had seen that expression was only two days ago, when he gave Face the brief, flying instructions. And they ended up crashing. It wasn't fair on the guys, and he felt guilty about it, and responsible. Maybe he should make an extra effort, and take over, for everyone's sake.

"Come on! Swap sides, quick! I can only handle the stick properly with my right hand. You'll be the gunner!" Murdock said, ignoring the pain in his shoulder, high on the adrenaline and his enhanced sense of duty, taking off the helmet and unfastening his harness. "Switch the helmets too."

Harlow squeezed over Murdock to swap seats quickly, so he sat on the right side. He handed off his helmet, buckled up again, and helped Murdock to fasten his harness.

"How many missiles left?" Harlow said, adjusting his helmet.

"One TOW missile and three rockets."

"Only?"

"You guys were a bit trigger-happy back in that prison, weren't you?"

"Shit," Harlow said, regretting firing on all those buildings and trucks just for fun.

Murdock slouched on his seat then, relaxing his upper body, while handling the stick with the right hand, resting his aching left side, ignoring the pain to stay awake. Handling that stick was much easier than the last time, because the transmission was intact, and the chopper responded well, nice and easy, not like during their last, disastrous flight, when he needed Face's help just to pull it up. His main problem now was his vision, because he could only see with one eye, and hardly keep it wide open.

 _It's time to feel the Force, Luke_ , he thought, closing his "good" eye. It didn't make any difference in the other, with the eyelids so swollen they didn't move at all, no matter how hard he tried. He relaxed, flying straight for a little while.

Suddenly, he pushed the stick forward to make a quick, sickening nose dive again. Harlow cried, hurled forward with the g-force, restrained by the harness, with a hand pressing against the glass canopy, panicking. Then, a TOW missile flew by, close to their side, but it didn't hit them. The helicopter continued his fast, vertiginous dive, until Murdock jerked the stick back, and the helicopter lined up with the ground, too close for comfort.

"How the hell did you know that fucker was coming?"

"The Force is with me."

"What?" Harlow looked at him, gaping, oblivious of the existence of the Star Wars saga and the metaphysical powers of the Jedi. When he realized the loony pilot had his eyes closed, he went mad. "What on earth are you doing? Open your eyes, man! You can't fly blind!"

"Do you mean _"open your wise, third eye"_? Because the others are fucked."

He opened his right eye, squinting, and carried on flying low, almost touching the ground now with the skids. One of the helicopters kept firing rounds from above, and some of the bullets hit the fuselage.

"Get us up!" Harlow cried, having serious doubts about his decision to leave that crazy man in charge. "If they hit the rotor, it will be game over! We're such an easy target now!"

"Not for long! Look!"

AAA

Face was back in the dark zone. The painless, cozy, welcoming darkness. So beautiful and peaceful. Why would anyone want to be awake, and in pain, instead of floating there for ever? It was beyond him.

He didn't want to leave the black mist, but he didn't like the way his body started to drift, like a leaf floating in the wind, or a little boat surrounded by high waves in rough sea. How much he hated that rocking sensation! He always got dizzy with the swaying of the boats, and he hated them, in general, unless they were the luxury kind, anchored and teeming with gorgeous babes in tiny bikinis. He always got seasickness, unless he took anti-sickness travel pills, and he didn't think he took any that day. No, wait, Murdock gave him pills before... What were they for? He couldn't remember. But, was he on a boat then? What for? On a cruise, on holidays? Maybe Murdock won the _Wheel of Fortune_ again, and he chose the cruise this time, finally taking him as companion… or maybe not. But please, could that woman at his side shut up and quit those annoying, chilling shrieks that pierced his eardrum?!

As he started to emerge from the dark cloud, his neck hurt, and he noticed how his head lolled from side to side. But, talking about pain, what about the rest of his battered body? Everything hurt, and he felt sick, and dizzy, for real, and he couldn't stand the shrieks for a further second!

He opened his eyes then to tell that woman off, and soon regretted waking up. He found himself strapped to a harness, in a helicopter that moved like a blooming rollercoaster car, but worse, because it was random, and a million times faster.

"Hannibal! I think that fool's flyin' this chopper!" B.A cried, panicking even more when the helicopter did a double barrel roll, turning on its long axis twice in a row.

"No shit! I hadn't notice!" Hannibal replied with a sour grin. He wished Murdock could sustain flight upside down, because that would free some pressure off his fractured femur, as it happened briefly during the rolls, but that was too much to ask for: not even Murdock could defy the laws of Aerodynamics that much. "Relax, and have faith. We can't crash twice in less than three days. We can't be that unlucky. We have more chances of winning the lottery, I think."

"Of course we can crash! And if we don't, we'll blow up in pieces! Those suckers are firing missiles at us!"

"Chill, B.A," Hannibal said, tiredly. "And remember, it's always darker before…"

He didn't finish his sentence with one of his twisted sayings, like _"it gets totally black"_ , because right then, the helicopter shot down straight, diving at high speed. It kind of felt like being on a free fall, but worse, strapped to their seats, on their back, feeling weightless but pulled down by the harness. B.A went quiet, not screaming like the rest of them, because he had fallen in that catatonic state again, totally frozen on the spot.

In the seats in front of him, Hannibal could see Tia and Quang hanging from their harnesses, with their legs dangling and their eyes closed. Face was now awake, also looking terrified, with his blue eyes staring at him, wide open, the same as his mouth. So frightened that he couldn't even scream. Hannibal wanted to reassure him, telling him everything was going to be fine, and he would soon be in a hospital, but the pressure of that five-point harness over the stick embedded in his side, and the unbearable pain caused by the seat on his fractured femur, proved too much, and he finally passed out, like an acrobatic pilot pulling Gs.

AAA

Face hung from the harness, pushed and squashed forward by the back of his seat. He had trouble breathing, he felt like vomiting, and nearly his whole body throbbed in pain, except one elbow. His head ached as if about to burst with the pressure. But at least they had placed him forward-facing, otherwise he would have spread his stomach contents all over the chopper already if he was on his back, like the guys in front of him. He saw B.A becoming catatonic and Hannibal passing out, before Murdock levelled the helicopter again. Tia sat by his right side, screaming hysterically, as an arachnophobic chick with a tarantula crawling up her leg.

"Tia, stop yelling, please!" Face cried, taking her left hand. "My head's gonna explode if you don't!"

"Face, you're awake!" she said, surprised, looking at him anxiously, holding onto his hand, squeezing it hard.

"I wish I wasn't."

"Are you alright?"

"No! I'm not alright. Everything hurts. What's going on?"

"I don't know what's happening. Only that we are under attack. I'm so frightened! This is even worse than the last time. At least that was a short flight before we crashed!"

"Yeah, I excelled at that crash-course… What's wrong with Hannibal?"

Rambo wannabe didn't look good, with his clothes in tatters, covered in blood stains, with the ever so dependable headband acting as a sling now, no longer on his head.

"He got shot, on his leg, and he fell off the helicopter."

"He… _what_?"

"B.A found him in the jungle."

"Is he alright?"

"No. He's badly injured. He needs a hospital, like you and Murdock. And Quang."

"Murdock must be better, because I'm sure he's flying this thing now."

"How do you know?"

He didn't answer that silly question. _As if anybody else would fly a helicopter into a tunnel, as he has just done!_

"Calm down. Everything's gonna be alright," he said, in the dark, squeezing her hand again to prevent any further screams.

 _Murdock, work your crazy, genius magic, please, and get us out of this one!_

AAA

Murdock spotted a large tunnel on the road ahead, wide enough to fit in. Not thinking twice, he got inside to protect the rotor from the hail of bullets, hoping he would not encounter any incoming traffic, and he was lucky, because the road was deserted then. He stopped half way, landing in the middle of the road, aligned with it. Then, he killed the engine and waited, with his eyes closed again.

"What are you doing?"

"I'm concentrating, asking the Universe my biggest wish."

"What wish?"

"That the Cobras fire more Sidewinders, and not TOWs or rockets this time."

"Why? Aren't those more difficult to avoid? Are you insane?"

"I think we already clarified that point, didn't we?" he said, opening his right eye again when the Cobras hovered at each end of the tunnel. "Please, please, pretty please…" he muttered, crossing his fingers.

As on cue, the helicopter in front of them fired a missile. Harlow and Murdock saw that flash coming their way, and both cowered, closing their eyes in fear. Harlow even lifted his arms over his face, in a reflex, as if that would give him any protection against the incoming killer. But the IR-missile whizzed past them, locking onto the thermal signal of the other Cobra at the opposite side of the tunnel.

"Yes!" Murdock cried, ecstatic, when the blast pushed them forward, thrown out with the shockwave, but their helicopter didn't get damaged, only shaken. He started the engine again and selected rockets, launching one, but before it hit the target, the other Cobra got away, leaving the end of the tunnel free.

"Damn, you missed!" Harlow said.

"Shit. Only two rockets left. Let's go, one-on-one now, motherfucker," he said, flying forward, out of the tunnel, looking for the other helicopter.

He climbed up a bit, hovering, rotating to find and face the Cobra. The Vietnamese pilot fired another TOW missile, but Murdock got his Huey out of the way, and climbed up while the Cobra followed him.

"Either that is the most incompetent, amateurish combat pilot ever, or they are out of sidewinders now," Murdock said with a lopsided grin. "However, unless they come directly from another trigger-happy mission, like us, they'll still have plenty of TOWs and rockets to play with."

"How do you keep up with technology? Are you still in active service after the war?"

"No, but I like to be up-to-date in all flying matters... It's a hobby of mine. The V.A hospital allows that. You know, a monthly subscription to _Army Technology_ and all that."

The Cobra kept firing while Murdock swerved, until he climbed up straight and fast.

"What are you doing?" Harlow cried, pushed against his seat, feeling a bit light-headed. "Not a back flip, are you?!"

"Yeah, a loop!" Murdock said, laughing crazily.

"You can't do a back flip on a helicopter!"

"Of course I can, watch me!"

The helicopter got upside down as Murdock kept pulling from the stick, and through the canopy, they got a visual of the Cobra below them.

"Ha! He's a chicken, he's not following!"

Murdock completed the loop and ended up behind the Cobra.

"It's not a tank, but you have to hit it, little one! You are the last, so make it count!" he said, firing their last TOW missile.

AAA

"Oh, God. I can't take this!" Face said, feeling light-headed, with the harness digging on his aching torso, and his sore back now crushed against the seat by the g-force while the chopper shot upwards. "I hate rollercoasters! I'm gonna die!"

"Hold on!" Tia cried, still holding his hand.

"I can't," he mumbled, giving up.

Face blacked-out and slipped back into the painless, dark zone, while Tia kept holding his now floppy hand. When the helicopter made the back flip, and she was hanging upside-down, she started crying again, hysterically.

Quang took her other hand, trying to calm her down.

"We'll be alright. Calm down, please," he said, trying to fool himself too.

 _Oh, please, stop the yelling!_ Conley thought _. I had enough of that!_

He wished she would pass out and be quiet, like everybody else around him. Hannibal, by his side, was out. The big, black guy looked paralyzed, and at the end of the row, Scott was dead. He felt sorry for the battered poor devil with the broken arm, that had probably fainted so he would not have to listen to the annoying screams anymore.

The helicopter completed the loop and flew straight and levelled again. They heard an explosion, and shortly after Harlow talked through the intercom.

"Is everybody alright? We shot them down! Both of them!"

Conley got the intercom handset, that was dangling loose above his head.

"Do you mean this torture is over? Can I puke out of the window now?"

"If you must! We'll carry on into Cambodia now. We must be very close, if we are not there already. I hope we don't get anybody else on our tail. If everything goes well, and we manage to refuel without incidents, we should get to Bangkok in less than three hours."

"Well done, guys. Keep it quiet now, because I should lay the injured guys back on the floor. They all passed out. I don't like the way they look, so hurry up to get them to a hospital."

"How's Scott?"

"He's dead."

"Shit."

"Indeed."

"Do the best you can, but we may need to get moving if the Cambodian Army comes for us. Stay alert."

"Roger that. Over."

"How are you feeling? Are you alright?" Harlow asked Murdock. After the rush of adrenaline, he had gone very quiet, slouched on the pilot seat, looking totally spent.

"Can you handle this now? I think I'm going to… I need to lie down."

He started to unstrap his harness, but before he could manage, he slid to a side, floppy, and his helmet came to rest against the door.

 _Brilliant. He is out_ , Harlow thought, desponded, grabbing the stick. _Damn! Well, at least he got rid of the Cobras for me. Wake up, buddy!_

He shook his right shoulder gently, but it didn't make a difference. Murdock was unconscious. In a way, it was kind of a miracle he had hold on for so long, as he looked so unwell to start with, but now, with the immediate danger over, his battered body gave up.

 _All right, rest now, but be ready to help me the next time shit like this hits the fan, please!_

AAAAA

 **A.N – OK. I confess. If you haven't noticed, I don't have a clue on Helicopter combat flying techniques, even after a few hours on google, researching weapons and stuff for 1986. So, I hope all this chapter of the "must have" Howling Mad helicopter acrobatics is not too off. Are there any combat pilots out there reading this? Please, put me to shame with all the mistakes and impossible stuff, thanks. At least, after a binge-watching of videos in YouTube, now I know the back flips and rolls are possible. I specially like the** _ **"Amazing Army Lynx helicopter doing back flips"**_ **. Have a look if you can. Cool!**

 **Basically, this whole chapter is an excuse to show how the POWs missed on the Star Wars films, and to get a character flaw in the otherwise Mary Sue-ish Tia. Yes, she is shitting bricks and screaming like a silly dumb blond, giving Face a headache, hahahaha.**

 **Thanks for reading and reviewing. More to come. Still in Cambodia. (Ugg, this "great escape" is going to take for ever! I see why the screenwriters didn't go there at all.)**


	17. Chapter 17

**Chapter 17**

Harlow flew at low altitude through Cambodia, hoping he could fool the radar by following the terrain, although that would slow them down significantly.

At the back, Conley, Quang and Tia tended for the injured men, laying them flat on the floor again. Quang administered Hannibal the antibiotic, anti-inflammatory, and morphine injections they found in the medical kit. He also gave some to Face, as it was time for his next dose in the afternoon, and self-injected some, except the morphine, in his own leg.

The healer inspected Hannibal's wound closer, and decided not to touch the stick, as it looked like it could have penetrated the abdominal cavity, and he didn't want to risk causing more harm than good if he pulled it out now, without the means to repair the defect immediately. If they could get him to a hospital within three hours, as the pilot said, it wasn't worth the risk. Quang would have preferred helping that man with his healing hands instead, but he couldn't do that either, because he needed to preserve the little energy he had left on himself. So, as he couldn't do anything else, he applied a dressing to protect the wound and left it, hideous as it was.

In the meantime, Conley had another look at the dog tags, selecting another two for Face and Murdock: Sergeant P.C Turner and Captain D.B Woods. He hung the first on Face's neck and kept the other in his pocket.

"Anybody knows why these guys have to pretend to be someone else? Any ideas?"

"No, I don't know," Tia said. Quang just shook his head. "They came here with my father, General |Fulbright, but I don't know why they are hiding."

"I hope the big guy comes back to life soon and tells us. But, why is he like that?" Conley said, standing in front of B.A. "Anybody home?" he said, snapping his fingers in front of his eyes, that looked to infinity and beyond, but he didn't get any kind of response from him.

"He doesn't even blink, but he's breathing," Tia said.

"That's not good. His eyes will get dry," Quang said. He looked in the medical kit, and found an unopened bottle of eye wash, a solution he used to moisturize the corneas. "We must do this regularly." He had a look then at the gunshot wound in B.A's arm, which was only a superficial graze, which he also cleaned and dressed.

At last, he kneeled by Face, taking his arm off the sling. Quang frowned when he checked that swollen, blackened hand. It didn't look good. Not at all. He wondered what had happened there, because the last time he had checked that arm he had aligned the bones and the result was quite satisfactory. He carefully removed the bandages that held the splint in place, trying not to affect the fracture. For the looks of it, it seemed Coronel Shu had a good time torturing that young man, causing a lot of damage to the tissues by disturbing the fragments. The open wound suggested the bones had pierced the skin at some point, increasing greatly the risk of infection. Quang couldn't do much now to repair the damage already inflicted to the tissues, but at least, he could try to massage the hand and get some of the inflammation and oedema drained before they got to the hospital. Tia helped him to hold the arm in a stable, high position, and he used both hands to try to restore the circulation to those swollen fingers, working his way up, glad Face was unconscious, or it would have been a continuation of the torture for him.

AAA

"Hey, buddy, are you back with me?" Harlow said when Murdock stirred. He woke up slowly, lifting his head off the door, taking in his surroundings, and sat up straight on his pilot seat.

"What happened?"

"You fainted. Are you alright?"

"What happened with the Cobras?"

"Don't you remember? You got rid of both."

The memories of the dogfight came back to him then. Yes, the tunnel trick had worked against the odds, in true A-Team style. He could be proud of that.

"Where are we now?" Murdock said, looking at the instruments for clues.

"About two hundred miles into Cambodia."

"Any contact with the ATC yet?"

"No, I'm flying low to avoid the radar."

"That will slow us down, and we have to get the guys to the hospital!"

"Yes, I know, but beggars can't be choosers. I don't know what's worse: delaying the arrival at the Embassy, or risking another chase."

"You're right, better to avoid the radar. But we are running out of fuel." Murdock tapped at the glass covering the gauge, and it didn't move. They had less than a quarter tank left.

"Yes, that's the other thing. You said you could re-fuel. How are you planning to do that unless we land at an airfield?"

"Like a car, at a petrol station."

"What?"

"Yes, find a petrol station, and we'll get the fuel off the pump. Easy."

"That's not aviation gas!"

"It doesn't matter, it will do. Tried and tested! Honest!"

Harlow looked at him, unconvinced. But, he was learning fast: with that unorthodox pilot, anything was possible, and he seemed to be right every time he suggested something outrageous.

"But you'll need to find a petrol station soon. Before we run out," Murdock said.

"Yes, I know."

"No pressure there…"

Murdock activated the intercom in his helmet then, to talk to the cabin.

"How are Hannibal and Face doing? Are they alright?"

"They are holding on. How much longer to the hospital?" Conley said.

"Harlow is flying low to avoid the radar. It may take a while. How's the big guy? Did he get catatonic?"

"He's waking up now."

"Be careful with his temper. He's very grumpy when he wakes up."

"Shut up, fool! I can hear you!" B.A cried, coming back to life, no longer catatonic now that the helicopter flew straight.

"See? That's what I mean," Murdock said.

"I got the dog tags for you. You'll be Captain D.B Woods," Conley said.

"What dog tags? What are you talking about?"

"Why does that fool stay as a Captain and I have to be a Private?" B.A complained, grunting. Conley ignored him and carried on talking on the intercom mouthpiece.

"Your colonel said you will assume the identity of the POWs that died at that prison. I still don't know the reason for that, but that's what he said."

"B.A, tell them why. They'll understand. I'll tell Harlow. Over."

"What do you have to tell me?" Harlow said, looking at Murdock.

"That we are fugitives from the US military."

"Are you? What did you do?"

"Nothing but follow orders. I took the guys on a special mission to Hanoi, to rob the bank, as ordered by our C.O."

"I heard about that! That was in 1971, wasn't it? Before they captured me."

"Yes," Murdock said, glad that finally Harlow was up-do-date with anything.

"Are you the A-Team then?"

"Yes."

"For real?"

"Yes."

"Wow. So, you are all Special Ops. Tough guys. And the Military Police is still looking for you in 1986?"

"Yes, they are a pain in the arse. And if we go to the US embassy, they'll find out who we are. I think Hannibal's plan is a good one, to pose as one of your unfortunate comrades to buy time until we can travel home."

"But, what happened with the money? Did you keep it?"

Murdock looked at him, stern, and then answered in his coldest tone.

"There is no money. It was all a set up. Someone killed our C.O, Colonel Morrison, and we got blamed for his murder and the robbery, but the money blew up in an explosion. Believe me, if we had any money, we would be retired on a nice beach in South America, and not escorting General Fulbright to bloody Vietnam. He was the last on a long list of MP pursuers since the guys escaped from the stockade in 1972."

"That's weird. Why would you help that general then, if he was the one chasing you?"

"Because we have a heart of gold, and because he promised to help us if we helped him. Now, for some, it will only look as if we killed General Fulbright too. And, as he's dead, and his body is somewhere in the jungle, charred inside a helicopter wreck, we can't prove anything. They'll have to accept Tia's testimony as a witness. She's his daughter, but she won't be able to prove that either."

"Wow. What a story. OK, I'll tell you all I know about Dwight. He was a funny guy, a bit of an oddball, like you. I think that's why James chose him for you."

"Great, if he was eccentric, he already looks like a good guy to me," Murdock said with a goofy smile. "OK, tell me about him."

AAA

While Murdock talked to Harlow, B.A had a similar conversation at the back, telling Conley and the others about the A-Team. Conley had also heard about them, when one of the last prisoners taken into that shithole in 1973 told him about the crazy Special Forces team who robbed the bank of Hanoi and then escaped from prison in the US. Tia and Quang didn't have a clue what B.A was talking about, but they believed in their innocence. Conley was a bit more difficult to convince, because he had believed the official version back then: those men had killed the colonel in charge and ran out with the money.

After some discussion, and the assertiveness of B.A's fist waving in front of Conley's face, together with a _"B.A Baracus doesn't lie, sucker!",_ he seemed to understand.

Then, Conley told B.A all he could remember about Private Jackson, so he could assume his identity with a minimum of confidence.

AAA

Someone was pulling at his arm, moving it, and it hurt. A lot.

Face was swimming in the dark cloud again, and he was hurting. That was a first for the usually quiet, dark zone, and he didn't like it. It was quite worrying, actually, because the dark cloud was a painless place. Pain was not welcome there. But someone was cheating, because this time it hurt like hell, when it shouldn't.

He heard a cry, of someone really distressed. He listened to it, wondering why that cry sounded so similar to his own. Until he realized _he_ was the one screaming. The memories of the psycho colonel playing with his arm came back to him, and he pulled from his fractured left arm, trying to get away from that grip. The pain increased tenfold, and then, he heard his own piercing cry again.

"I'm sorry, son. Calm down, please, I'm only trying to help. Calm down, and don't move your arm or you'll make it worse!"

Face felt a few hands pinning him down then, trying to immobilize him, and he fought harder, screaming mad.

"Calm down, Face! You're safe! It's only us, trying to help you, fool!"

He recognized that voice as B.A's. When he opened his eyes and saw that worried face hovering over his, he stopped struggling, but carried on screaming, with his frightened eyes darting around. He stopped screaming and relaxed a bit when he realized it was Quang handling the arm, and not the psycho colonel. He trusted Quang. If he said he was trying to help, he ought to be saying the truth.

"That's it, calm down. Breathe," Quang said, placing one hand over Face's forehead to soothe him. It was burning. "Breathe. Take deep breaths. Ignore the pain, don't focus on it."

Face wanted to follow his suggestions, but he couldn't stop panting and sweating, frightened, hurting too much. How could he ignore that pain? It was impossible.

"I'll replace the splint and then I'll let go of your arm, OK? I was trying to help with the drainage, and I didn't think you would wake up so soon. I'm sorry for causing you so much pain. Hold on, OK? Deep breaths, remember."

Tia got hold of his good hand and tried to distract him while Quang replaced the splint and got that arm on the sling again.

"Face, you'll be alright. You had a shot of morphine, you should feel it soon."

"I can't… I can't…" Face said, whimpering.

"Yes, you can! Come on, man. Hold on!" B.A said. "It'll be over in a moment. We're getting' you guys to a hospital."

Finally, Quang let go of his arm, and he could relax a bit, although it still hurt, but not so much without the tension and the pulling as when his arm was up. Tia carried on asking him questions about the US, as a distraction.

"Do you think I'll be alright in the US? Which part do you live in?"

"L.A."

"Los Angeles... That's a nice place, isn't it?"

"Yes, it is," Face said, relaxing a bit more when he felt the morphine effects kicking in, no longer panting mad.

"Will you take me somewhere nice there, Face?" she said, still holding his hand. "Will I like it?"

Feverish, hurting, and all, Face couldn't resist a pretty woman caressing the back of his hand, and his flirty side came out to play.

"Of course you'll like L.A, Tia. The fancy restaurants, the beaches, the… night clubs. And the shops. I could take you shopping in Beverley Hills. You'll love Rodeo Drive."

"Yes, Face. Will you take me to all these places?"

"Yeah, sure."

"Maybe not to Rodeo Drive, fool!" B.A said. "Hannibal won't like it if you get crazy with the credit card!"

"You are such a buzzkill, B.A," Face said, rolling his eyes.

Right then, the helicopter landed. Conley got on the intercom.

"Are we there?" he asked, while looking at the window. But that didn't look like an Embassy at all.

"No. Refuelling," Harlow said.

The pilots got out of the helicopter, and so did Conley and B.A.

"Where are we?"

"I don't know. A petrol station, in Cambodia," Murdock said.

He said a few words to the puzzled attendant, opened the cap of the fuel tank, and grabbed the hose at the pump. He struggled to lift it and Harlow had to help him placing the nozzle in. Then, he started pouring gas nonchalantly, whistling, as if he was filling up the van's tank.

"Don't we need aviation-graded gas, fool?" B.A said.

"Don't fret, big guy. It'll be alright."

"I'll get some supplies." B.A got to the shop, and returned with several bottles of water, milk, and some food. "Are we paying for this?"

"Yes. Hannibal should have some dollars in his wallet. Have a look."

B.A handled one of the water bottles and some food to Harlow, and left the other stuff in the cabin. When he found Hannibal's wallet he got a few notes and gave them to the astonished attendant.

"There you go, sucker. That should pay for it all!"

The man looked at the American dollars on his hand, looking at B.A with his mouth open.

"Thank you very much," Murdock said, returning the hose, while Harlow replaced the cap.

"Here, that's your dog tag," Conley said, handing it over to Murdock.

"Thanks, cool. Everybody OK?" He placed the dog tag around his neck and had a quick look inside the cabin. "Hey, Face, how are you doing?"

Face let go of Tia's hand to lift his, saluting with a silly smile.

"Great. Are we at the hospital yet?"

"No, sorry. Not yet. But it won't take long now, buddy. Hold on."

"OK. Hurry up." _Why everybody keeps telling me to hold on? Just get me to the damn hospital instead!_

Everybody hopped in then, and Murdock got the chopper up again, heading west.

"I think we should be quite close to Thailand now. Should we risk it?"

"I don't know, man."

"This is taking too long. Hannibal didn't look good, nor did Face, with those sunken, feverish eyes. We should hurry up."

"All right. You always know best. Do whatever you want."

Murdock got the helicopter climbing up, and then pushed the stick, opening the throttle to get to top speed.

Twenty minutes later, they got the voice of the air traffic controller demanding to know their ID, flying path and authorization.

"Dammit, what's that? What's he saying? I didn't understand a word," Harlow said covering his mouthpiece.

"That's Cambodian Khmer. So, we are still in Cambodia."

"Do you speak that language?"

"Not fluently, but I can give it a try."

Murdock started talking in what looked like gibberish, in a language that sounded so different to the Vietnamese. The exchange lasted for a few minutes, until Murdock was close to yelling, alternating between the Vietnamese and the Cambodian, throwing in some French too.

"What's going on?" Harlow said.

"He's a twat. I told him we got authorization to carry General Hoàng in a diplomatic mission to Thailand, but he's not buying it. I think he's cross because he didn't detect us sooner on the radar, and now we are about to leave his airspace, too late to scramble anybody to get us."

"Well, tough."

"Exactly. That's what I'm telling him: F.O. I'm being creative here, like Hannibal said," he said, laughing.

Murdock forced the helicopter to go a bit faster, until they crossed to Thai airspace. Soon they got the ATC asking the same questions, and that's when Harlow and Murdock really got "creative".

AAAAA


	18. Chapter 18

**Chapter 18**

"This is Aerothai, Nakhon Ratchasima Air Traffic Management. Unidentified aircraft entering Thai Airspace and currently flying over 13º42' North, 102º34 East, please identify yourself right now," a male voice said in Thai over the radio. He sounded quite cross already, as nobody from Cambodia had bothered to hand over that flight plan and clearance.

"Do you also speak Thai?" Harlow said.

"Yes, of course. Don't you?" Murdock said, looking puzzled that he didn't.

"Only a little."

"Where did you go on your breaks, man? Thai girls were the best… OK, I'll ask them for English, so you can understand what we are saying. It shouldn't be a problem with the Thai. Can you fly this thing now while I talk, please? I'm tired."

"Yeah, sure. Take a break from the stick. You still look like shit. Don't give up on me again, huh?"

Harlow took control of the helicopter while Murdock prepared for the verbal battle. He coughed and cleared his throat, drinking a bit of water from one of the bottles B.A had provided, trying to find a comfy posture on the pilot's seat, because he anticipated the conversation would be a difficult one, and his shoulder hurt as hell. He had taken the pills Tia handed him before, when they stopped for fuel, but the painkillers had not made any difference yet.

"Nakhon ATM, can I report in English, please?" Murdock said, handing the bottle to Harlow.

"Yes, go ahead. ID now and clearance, please."

"This is Victor November 3-5-4-9," Murdock said, reading the numbers off the panel above his head. "Bell UH-1H"

"Switch to frequency 118.3, please."

"Roger," Murdock said, tampering with the radio, searching that frequency. "He wants privacy. I bet he didn't like the Vietnamese "VN" registration of a ghost, military helicopter coming his way," he said while covering the mouth piece, laughing.

"No, I don't think he did. Will you tell them we are carrying a general, like before?"

"Well, we are, aren't we? Didn't you say Hannibal is a general now? Everson?"

"Brigadier General, not five-star. What about that general you came to Vietnam with? Was he a big fish?"

"How are we going to fit General Fulbright in this scam? Is it necessary to mention him, as Hannibal said? I'm not sure about that. Mentioning him could lead them to us quite easily. Man, how I wish Hannibal, or better still, Face could be here talking to that ATC right now. Face would con that guy at the tower into sending us a military escort, with clearance to land directly at the helipad of the best hospital in Thailand, and naked cheerleaders would be waiting for us at the rooftop, waving pom-poms."

Harlow was drinking water from the bottle then, and he burst out laughing, spitting the water all over the controls and the canopy, nearly choking with it.

"That would be great! Is he that good at conning, that guy?"

"The best! Let me tell you, he could borrow your underwear and sell it back to you, used, dirty, and in tatters. And you'd still buy it for double the original price, and thank him for the privilege!"

"Bell UH-1 VN3549, do you copy?" said the ATC guy over the new frequency, interrupting their exchange.

"Loud and clear," Murdock said, still chuckling.

"Can you tell me your airport of origin, your flight plan and clearance, please?"

"I don't have one."

"Come again?"

"I don't have one."

"You are flying a foreign, unauthorized military aircraft into Thai aerospace. Unless you specify your intentions, and obtain clearance, be prepared to be intercepted," the Thai air traffic controller said, dead serious.

"Intercepted? As in shot down?" Harlow said.

"As we deem necessary." The ATC guy paused for a moment, as if busy with something.

"There we go, scrambling already… how efficient!" Murdock said to Harlow, knowingly, and then talked back to the guy at the tower. "That won't be necessary, Nahkon. We stole this helicopter from the Vietnamese Army. We are Americans. This is Captain H.M…" He stopped himself in time, facepalming, and checked the dog tag. "Aaaah, I mean, Captain D.B Woods, US Airforce. We have the intention of landing at the US Embassy in Bangkok. Requesting flight path and clearance."

"The US Embassy… Yeah, right. You could be terrorists carrying an atomic bomb for all I know!" the ATC said, ignoring protocol and official, formal language. "As soon as we get a visual, I'll give you more instructions."

"Look, no need to send the cavalry on us! Check the details I gave you: Woods, Dwight Bryan, 687-12-1345 AF," Murdock said, reading from the tag again.

"One moment."

"Now he's going to tell me I'm dead. In the meantime, get me a list with all our names, please."

It took about five minutes, but that's exactly what happened: he was declared dead, missing in action.

"I got confirmation that Captain Woods is dead, MIA in Vietnam in 1970. The US Embassy knows nothing about your intended arrival. You are an impostor. Visual any moment now, so you better give me the right story, pal."

 _Pal? I hope you are so unprofessional because I made you use English…_ Murdock thought, starting to get very upset. Even more when two F-16s flew by, and then made a sharp turn to line up at each side of the Huey.

"OK, we got your Vipers now… How nice of you to send them to keep us company! Now, listen, _pal,_ we have several US Army officers badly injured and in dire need of medical attention. And I'm not dead! I was captured in…" he stopped to look at Harlow.

"I can't remember. It was before my time. 1970, as he said, but I don't know where exactly, or how," Harlow said, covering the mouth piece again.

"OK, my jacket says Da Nang 1970. It will fit."

Harlow shrugged his shoulders then. It would be difficult to fit everything nicely, as they were making the story up as they went along, but little touches like that looked credible. The only problem was, Conley and him wore rags, no proper clothes, and the contrast with the others was a bit too obvious.

"I was captured in 1970, shot down in Vietnam during the war, right after I bought a jacket in Da Nang," Murdock carried on, checking the list of names Harlow had hurriedly noted down for him. "We escaped from a Vietnamese military prison today, stealing this helicopter. The names of the other prisoners are Major J.D Conley, Captain J.K Harlow, General A.M Everson, Private R.C Jackson and Sergeant P.C Turner. Did you get all the names?"

"Yes."

"We intent to land at the US Embassy because that is the only US territory left in Thailand after you closed all our military bases, _pal_ , and because I am carrying US army personnel, including General Everson, who is one of the injured men. Tell the Embassy they should have ambulances ready to take these men to a hospital. We also have two Vietnamese defectors here, who would like to share lots of military secrets from the commies."

"What?" Harlow said, covering his piece one more time.

"Creative," Murdock whispered, nodding knowingly, and Harlow nodded as well, laughing.

"How many injured men?" the ATC guy said, looking a bit more interested now.

"Four. They need attention ASAP. Another one is dead, Lieutenant R.P Scott."

"Say altitude, speed and heading."

"Altitude, speed and heading." Murdock couldn't resist that all-time favourite routine to annoy air traffic controllers.

"Stop taking the piss, _pal_ , because I believe the guys at your flanks are trigger-happy!"

"1200ft, 115knots, 270º"

"Maintain altitude and speed, correct heading to 250º. Checking your data now."

"Roger. Hurry up."

"Did he buy it?" Harlow said.

"I hope so," Murdock said, blinking, with a sudden blurred vision. "Shit, I'm so tired now."

It took a while, but then the voice of the pilot in one of the F-16 Falcons came through the radio.

"OK, guys. Two helicopters are on their way. If this info you gave us is true, and you get clearance, you'll be escorted directly to a hospital helipad instead of to the US Embassy. That will be faster for your injured men. But, if you try any tricks, we'll shoot you down on the spot, is that clear?"

"Crystal," Murdock said. "Thank you. Over for now."

"Wow, you are good! That's exactly what you said. Now we only need the naked ladies with the pom-poms at the rooftop!" Harlow said, utterly impressed.

"I'm not a conman, that's the Faceman," Murdock said, leaning in slow motion towards the door, as before, until he came to rest on it. "You carry on now. I need… I need… Shit…" He didn't finish the sentence, fading away slowly, as if his batteries ran out again.

 _Not again, man! Well, get some rest, you earned it. This should be easy now. Thanks, pal_ , Harlow thought, repositioning him a bit on his seat. Then he realized they didn't follow the instructions. _Oh, shit, he gave us a new heading!_

"Heading West South West, 250 degrees, as per tower instructions."

"Roger. Go ahead," said the F-16 pilot. "We'll follow you."

"Initiating manoeuvre in 3, 2, 1…" Harlow said, over-cautious, because the last thing he wanted was crashing with a jet plane, or made them cross and _"trigger-happy"_.

AAA

On landing at the hospital rooftop, there was a flurry of activity. No cheerleaders, but plenty of hospital personnel waited for them there, with gurneys to take the sick men away quickly, and plenty of Thai army soldiers and representatives of the US Embassy stood there, both very keen on information.

When Harlow and Conley got off the helicopter, they hugged each other, crying, ignoring everybody else around them, too emotional to bother.

"We made it! We made it! Yes!"

"Are we at the hospital now?" Face said faintly, hardly awake, as the medics got IV lines ready and checked his vitals.

"Yes, buddy. You'll be alright now," B.A said. "This guy has a broken arm, ribs and sternum, and a wound in his abdomen," he explained to the medics.

"Thanks. We got him, don't worry."

"They all got some meds on board. Ask that guy, he gave them the stuff," B.A added, pointing at Quang, who was also taken care off. Then he pointed at Murdock. "That guy has a shot in his shoulder. We had to cauterize the wound because it would not stop bleeding. And the General here," he continued, approaching Hannibal, who was still unconscious, taking Tia's pendant off his neck, "he fell off the helicopter after getting shot in the leg, and broke that same leg and dislocated his shoulder. His ribs are also broken, and there is a stick piercing his side, into his abdomen."

"Wow, you guys had a hard time! Are you alright?" The medic said, pointing at the dressing in his arm.

"Yes, I'm fine. That's a scratch. Hurry up to fix my friends, will you?"

"Yes, don't worry," the doctor said, rolling Face's gurney away, and the other three followed him to the elevator to get off the roof.

Then, B.A had to deal with the soldiers and the guys from the Embassy. Man, how much he hated the smooth talking! Why it had to be him? Why he had to be the only one left to do it?

The Thai soldiers had aimed their weapons at Tia, still dressed in the Vietnamese uniform. She held her hands up, visibly frightened.

"Back off!" B.A said, coming between them and her. "This is a lady in disguise, for crying out loud! She ain't no soldier. She's General Fulbright's daughter!"

"Sir, I am Major Peter Lockhart, chief of the Joint United States Military Advisory Group, Thailand."

"That's a mouthful," B.A said, grunting.

"We call it JUSMAGTHAI."

"Still a mouthful."

"Are you injured, Sir?"

"No."

"Well, in that case, we would like to invite you all to a briefing, so you can tell us about the situation. Please follow me."

"I want to stay here at the hospital, with my friends. I'm going nowhere."

"You friends will get the best possible care, and they don't need you while they get treated. While we do. So, please, come with us."

Two of the Thai soldiers moved forward then, quite menacing-looking. B.A put the pendant back on Tia's neck, and then took her by the hand, protectively.

"All right, but make it quick! I want to be back here within the hour!"

One of the other helicopters also landed at the roof, and the soldiers took them all to the Royal Thai Armed Forces military compound in Bangkok, close to the US Embassy. There, they started the long stream of interrogations, giving explanations that would take hours. In the end, those hours rolled into days, something that made B.A lose the little tolerance to nonsense he had.

AAA

"Well, what do you think?" said the next day the American Ambassador, Richard Daniels.

"I think we opened Pandora's box. Those look like genuine POWs to me," said Coronel Downey. He was the military attaché to the US embassy in Thailand. "Well, at least Captain Harlow and Major Conley. I'm not sure about the others, but their injuries were serious, and real. Him… I don't know. He looks so out of place."

In cooperation with the Thai army, they had taken B.A, Conley, Harlow, and Tia for interrogation, and had also talked to Quang at the hospital. The other three were still at the ICU, and nobody had talked to them yet. So far, the stories they got were confusing, to say the least, and some aspects didn't match very well. But Harlow's and Conley's accounts were consistent. And they all had the ID tags.

"You are right, there is something dodgy about them all, specially that big guy. And what about that General they claim to be working with?"

"We checked on him. We found a general with that name, Harlan Fulbright, but he's missing. He was last seen only a few days ago boarding a stolen plane, apparently kidnapped by the same soldiers he had been pursuing for years, while working with the Military Police. I think these guys probably made that up, remembering that name from the war."

"And what about the girl? She insists she's Fulbright's daughter. She claimed to have a letter, but she lost it."

The colonel shrugged his shoulders. He also believed that using Fulbright's name as her father was a fantasy to get legitimate papers in the US.

"The only thing I know, for a defector she knows shit about Vietnamese military secrets, the same as the other guy. They lied about that too."

They looked at Private Jackson from the other side of the double glass mirror, while the chief of JUSMAGTHAI and the Thai soldiers interrogated him one more time.

"I told you a million times already, jerk! Are you deaf? We met that general at Quang's, when he came with his daughter, and he helped us to rescue the rest of the POWs still in that prison. He acted like a hero, and he deserves a medal, but unfortunately, he died there, and we had to leave him behind. How many times do I have to tell you? And what does it matter, anyway? I hardly knew the man!"

"You'll tell me as many times as I deem necessary," Major Lockhart said, quite cocky.

"Quit the nonsense, fool! You can't keep me here for ever with this crap! I want to see my friends at the hospital! Now!" B.A screamed, standing up and stumping both fists on the table, making the other man jump on his seat.

"Definitely iffy," Daniels said.

"Yes," Colonel Downey said. "Dirty as mud. And dangerous. We should get their prints and have them checked. I bet they won't match the ones of the POWs they claim to be."

AAA

Although it looked like a very sinister wound, the broken shaft penetrating on Face's abdomen didn't cause a lot of damage. The surgeon had to remove a small portion of the intestine, but the rest of the organs were OK, only bruised, even after the second trauma caused by the cane. However, even with the antibiotics that he took while in prison, Face had developed peritonitis, and the doctors had to leave a drain there to treat it. The orthopaedic surgeons had managed to fix the broken bones in his arm, plating both, hoping the blood supply was still good enough to make everything viable, and were treating him heavily with antibiotics for the open, infected fracture, and the peritonitis. So far, the neurological response had been good, and Face could move his fingers a bit now, always a good sign. He was also lucky because the blunt trauma to his chest didn't cause any more damage other than a fractured sternum and ribs. The fragments of these bones didn't pierce the lungs or the liver, and he only had lung contusions. Although very painful, the broken bits should heal on its own with adequate rest without further treatment or surgery.

Hannibal had also been extremely lucky after that fall. He had a drain in his leg, necessary after fixing the femur and removing the bullet, to prevent a built up of fluids there, and another one in his abdomen. The wooden stick had indeed penetrated the abdominal cavity, but the same as Face, miraculously nothing important had been damaged there. Now they shared the same diagnosis of peritonitis, with similar heavy doses of antibiotics and painkillers to treat it, and even similar nerve blocks, scheduled at regular intervals to alleviate the pain of their broken ribs, to let them rest.

For the first three days, Hannibal and Face stayed isolated at the ICU for the polytrauma they had sustained. After surgery, when stable they moved them to the same room at the trauma ward, close to the room Murdock and Quang also shared there.

Face had enjoyed the first couple of days in that room, talking to Hannibal, flirting with the nurses, and keeping up the charade with the people from the US Embassy. However, he hated the way the colonel looked at him sometimes, like overwhelmed by guilt. So far, Face had avoided to have a serious conversation with him, but he didn't know for how long he could keep dodging that talk.

That afternoon, Hannibal was dozing, unsettled. He was grunting, sweating, and struggling over the pillow, obviously having a nightmare. Face looked at him, worried, and called his name, but Hannibal didn't wake up.

"Wake up!" Face cried out loud, but Hannibal still didn't react and carried on, turning his head from side to side on the pillow, mumbling something. _Damn it_.

Out of reach from him, Face grabbed one of the magazines they had at the side table and threw it on his face, hitting him straight on, quite hard. Hannibal woke up with a scream, pawing at the magazine, panting, but soon came out of the bad dream and smiled at his lieutenant.

"Why did you wake me up, Face? I was winning this time."

"To be honest, by all the noises you made, I thought you were losing. But don't complain: you always win in real life."

"You know how much I love it when a plan comes together," Hannibal said, grinning. Then he nodded to his leg, suspended from a harness, a little bit elevated to assist with the drainage. "But I didn't win in style this time."

"No, don't underestimate yourself. I'm sure you flew out of that helicopter _in style_. It would have been a fantastic take for one of your films: _"The flying Aquamaniac"_ , or something."

"Or something, yes... So, what's up this afternoon? Another grilling session with the JUSMAGTHAI guy? He's such a pain, that man, always with his silly questions. We should start thinking on an evacuation plan. He is the kind of idiot that could accidentally find out who we really are."

"I think he's up to something, yes. He contacted "our relatives", probably for a positive ID on us, because checking the prints will take a while. Maybe they don't even have the prints of these guys in the system yet, as they would be pre-1970. It's a shame, but I don't think Lockhart believes that we escaped in advance and that's why we are not walking skeletons like Harlow and Conley. Everything would be easier if he did."

"No, that was a bit far-fetched, but we had no other way to justify B.A's bulky physique and my beer belly after starving in that prison for years. Well, how long do you think we have before these people are flown in to see us?"

"I don't know. Not long." Face paused for a moment. He had been thinking about it, and, if he had had a family in real life and he had died in a POW camp, he wouldn't like them to be given false hopes like that after so many years. It seemed too cruel to have these poor people flying to Thailand only to find out their long-lost relatives were not alive as they had been told. It would be like a double shock, and it wasn't fair. But, he didn't need to worry too much for his own performance with them: the sergeant he was impersonating never married, and all his relatives were dead already. He was on his own, as always. The irony! "Hannibal, don't you feel bad for their families?"

"Of course I do, Face. But there's nothing I can do about that. Other than give up, tell Lockhart our real names, and stay in custody until they take us back to the US to stand trial and face possible execution... No, sorry, I prefer to upset a few widows now rather than doing that."

They were silent for a while, until Hannibal looked at him with that particular guilty glee in his eyes, and this time, Face knew he would not be able to avoid him anymore.

AAAAA

 **A.N – Yes, they got to the hospital, finally! Yay!**

 **Just a quick note to let you know the JUSMAGTHAI is a real unit, based at the Thai military compound close to the US Embassy in Bangkok. I love God Google for this kind of thing! I included it because it reminded me of the gag of the agents of S.H.I.E.L.D in the Avengers, hahaha. What a mouthful of a name!**

 **And the whole scene with the Air Traffic Controller? Despite the fact I nearly started training as one a few years ago, passing all the initial tests, I made all that up. Any real ATCs out there, please tell me off.**

 **(Btw, this issue of the ATCs made me wonder: how do they manage to fly planes and helicopters in and out of the country as they please, all the time in the series? Don't they ever get caught on radar? How do they get clearance to land at the airports/airfields/jungles…? LOL. Do they always have to be "creative" off screen with the ATCs and we don't know anything about it? Ha. I doubt it… So why do I bother about this, if the screenwriters didn't? Because I'm an idiot, that's why!)**

 **Well, I hope you enjoyed it. And please, review if you can, thanks.**


	19. Chapter 19

**Chapter 19**

"Face, I know you don't want to talk about this, but I have to ask you: did that… did that general…" _Shit, how can I put this?_ "Did he…you know?" His mouth refused to say the word.

"Do you really want, or need, to have this conversation, Hannibal? Really? Because I don't," Face said, without looking at him, apparently more interested in the fabric of the covers of his hospital bed, stretching a little portion of the cloth between his right thumb and index finger, caressing it with the ink-stained tips, as if he wanted to dissect it, with an attitude that clearly said: _"you are absolutely right: I don't want to talk about that shit."_

Hannibal nodded, understanding, and he didn't say anything else. If Face didn't want to talk about it, it wasn't right that he pushed the questions. He lowered his gaze then, ashamed, unable to keep staring at those battered features. Five days after the ordeal, Face's eyes were still blackened, surrounded by dark haematomas, although a little less swollen now, the same as his bruised cheek and mouth. His lower lip showed a couple of stitches at the corner, where it had split with one of the psycho's friendly touches. All in all, he still looked much better than Murdock, whose face looked awfully swollen and showing every possible shade of purple, as if he had held 15 rounds to Ali as a target practice. Every time he looked at them, Hannibal felt it was his fault. He always took pride on not leaving people behind, but this time he had, and they had paid the price of that mistake. Although, if they had not been captured and taken to that prison, they would not have rescued the POWs from that shithole… It was a tricky one, with too many angles.

Instead of looking at his lieutenant, Hannibal looked at the hands resting on his lap, the hands that braced each other nervously, with fingers rolling over knuckles, as if aching to hit someone or something with a mighty punch. He looked at his fingertips, still stained with dark ink that refused to wash away, the same as Face's, a reminder of how that sneaky Major Lockhart had taken their prints while they were unconscious at the ICU two days ago, while recovering from the anaesthetic after surgery. He got even more upset then, but he put those thoughts aside for a moment, one more time. He would think about that later, about the very real possibility they would get caught because of that. At least, they were in Thailand, the computers there were not linked to the US ones, and it could take a while to find a match manually. For now, he sighed and looked at the window, regretting once again leaving his men behind at Quang's, or at least, not rescuing everybody sooner.

It was a nice day, warm and sunny, with a clear, blue sky. Gorgeous by any standards. One of those days when it was especially difficult to believe some members of the human race could be so cruel to one another. When it was easier to believe those bastards should not be human at all, but something else.

"No," Face said after a while. A long while. So long, that his reply took Hannibal by surprise.

"Come again?" Hannibal said, looking at him somehow startled, coming back from _the deep_ , that hidden recess of his mind where he had got lost in his gloomy thoughts.

"He didn't rape me."

 _Thank God for that! At least I got there in time to prevent that, if not the rest of the torture,_ Hannibal thought, relieved. His long, deep sigh said it all, but he still felt the need for words.

"Good. I'm so sorry I left you both behind in that village. And I'm sorry because I didn't get there sooner. Please, forgive me. None of that should have happened. Not now, not back then in 1970."

"Don't apologize, please. It is embarrassing. Stop beating yourself up about this!" Face said, staring at him now, no longer avoiding his eyes. He looked dead serious. "Listen, it's not your fault we got captured, neither now, nor before. I thought it wasn't necessary to tell you all this, but as you insist, I will. You did everything you could for me, and I owe you my life: you dragged me for miles through the jungle with your broken ribs; got me a healer that raised me from death like Lazarus; and walked another long trek to find a transport instead of resting. And then, when we got captured, you made the impossible: you got us out of there alive. Who else but you could have got us out of that prison by coming through the front door like that? Who else could pull that crazy stunt successfully?"

"Rambo?"

Face chuckled, glad to know laughing didn't hurt anymore, thanks to the now regular nerve blocks of local anaesthetic on his fractured ribs and sternum.

"Yeah, Rambo... or Chuck Norris, maybe."

Face paused for a moment, while Hannibal also chuckled, and then continued, willing to get it out of his chest, if only once, and never again.

"That twisted son of a bitch was about to rape me, yes, and I really thought I could do nothing to prevent it. Again. And, after the treatment I got from the other psycho, they didn't need to put a gun to my head this time, or restrain me against that table, other than with that pathetic piece of rope. If I could have offered any resistance, I would have struggled until they had to kill me. That fat bastard would have raped a dead body!"

"Don't say that."

"It is the truth, Hannibal. I couldn't go through the humiliation again, and specially all that pointless, self-consuming rage that follows it. Not again. Harlow and the others said they got raped regularly, by that general and by other soldiers, and that didn't faze them anymore. I don't have that kind of resilience, you know, and I don't understand how they managed to get through all that torture for years and live to tell the story. Murdock thinks the same. Why are they not insane already?"

"I don't know. Maybe a person has to suffer for a long, long time before that happens, before their senses get numbed, and that resilience, as you call it, manifests. I honestly don't know. I don't think I could have done it either if I had been in their position."

They remained quiet for a while again, mulling over that, until Hannibal broke the silence.

"Tell me, who shot that son of a bitch? Was it the soldier that was helping you? When I got there, that general was lying on the floor, behind you, with several gunshots in his chest. I simply put him out of his misery with a _coup de grâce_ , sending him to hell. And, in the heat of the moment, I made sure of that, shooting him at least ten times! Nothing to be proud of, I know, but I couldn't help it."

"No, it wasn't the sergeant. I don't know who did it. That fat bastard slammed my back, with a blow that nearly knocked me out again, and pulled my trousers and underwear down. As I lay there, just trying to breathe and mentally preparing to endure… _that,_ I heard his zipper opening, and when he was about to start, a burst of gunfire came through the windows. It was a miracle all those bullets didn't hit the rest of us, only him. As if they were all meant for him."

Hannibal smiled then, with a mysterious, sly grin.

"I think you're right. Those bullets were meant for him, but I didn't know it then."

"Do you know anything I don't?" Face said, curious about that smile.

"Yes. The bullets coming through the window? Yeah, that must have been me, because when we arrived with the truck and B.A stumped on the breaks, I lost balance and I sent a misfired round to the building with that machine gun, that hit a couple of windows... Blimey, I hit that son of a bitch when he was about to…"

"Yes, you did!" Face interrupted him. "And I'm very grateful, thank you, but please, let's change the subject now, shall we? I had enough of this conversation. And please, don't bring it up ever again. And I mean it: ever."

"OK. I won't," Hannibal said, nodding, serious. But then, he carried on looking at Face, hesitating. No, he hadn't finished yet. "Do you think you'll be alright after this?"

"Hannibal, I've never been alright, you know that. Not since the POW camp. And I never will. But I can function out there, more or less, if that's what you are worried about. I'll be as reliable as ever. I won't become Murdock, I promise." _At least not yet._

"I would like to help you."

"Well, you can't. In the same way I can't help you to detox out of the _jazz_ , which I presume it's the bizarre coping mechanism you use to deal with your own ghosts, and what will get you killed one day. You had a warning falling off that helicopter, and you should learn from that mistake. But, let's leave it there, OK? I'm going to be alright and I won't lose my arm, and that's all that matters to me now. We are all going to make it back home in one piece, something I had serious doubts about, so let's be cheerful and celebrate. Forget about the rest, but please, never, ever, ask me to return to Vietnam for any reason. Not even on holiday, if that damn country ever becomes a tourists' paradise, against all odds. Deal?"

"Deal. I don't want to go back there either."

"Fine. We won't, then. Ever."

They heard Murdock's jibber-jabber and B.A's grumpy grunts at the corridor then, approaching, and soon the pair were at the door, B.A pushing the loony pilot's wheelchair.

" _Hola_ , _muchachos! Qué pasa?_ How are you doing?" Murdock said, back to his usual cheerful self, as if his face didn't resemble an abstract, deform portrait, that included the extra touch of the dressing covering the burn on his temple. "Living the dream at this Thai, five-star hotel?"

"This is no hotel, fool! This is a hospital!"

"Don't be silly! This has to be a five-star hotel, B.A. Or at least four. When I called for room service today, they gave me a Thai, relaxing massage, and the chocolate milkshake with cookies I've been asking you for days!"

"That was no Thai massage, fool! That was the rehab for your shoulder! You drive me crazy!"

"Really? I'm worried about you. Maybe my shrink should see you when we fly back home. You may need treatment, B.A. We could share therapy, and the happy pills, and…"

"I need no happy pills, fool! If your face didn't look like black pudding already, I would smash it to a pulp! And, I'm not flyin' back home!"

Face rolled his eyes, sighed, and looked at Hannibal while the other two argued, whispering while he pointed at him, and then at himself, nodding in self-reassurance: "See? We'll be alright."

"Yes. One, big, happy family, as you like to put it," Hannibal said, grinning. The only family the two of them had.

AAA

Major Lockhart looked at the pair of clowns that looked like shit in their hospital beds. They were barely alive only a few days ago, and now he regretted not pushing them a bit over the edge and into the other side when he had an easy chance at smothering them. Their cocky, smartarse attitude exasperated him, specially the older guy, that seemed to be the boss. After all, he claimed to be a general, and it was obvious that he was used to be in command. But he couldn't be who he claimed to be. The story and the details they gave didn't add up.

He didn't have a clue on who those mercenaries were, but he knew one thing: they were not POWs. Yes, they got injured and got brutally beaten up while rescuing the others heroically, but they were not genuine, long-term prisoners, like Harlow and Conley, that potential bombshell for the current administration, and a personal headache for him.

What were they going to do with them POWs? Going public was political suicide for the government, and a can of worms for the global political scene. Except Korea, things were calming down a bit in that area, moving the conflicts into the Middle East instead, and nobody wanted to reignite the issues with Vietnam, even less after the embarrassing outcome of that last campaign. But, what could they do with those men then? Keep them locked and out of sight for ever, contained and isolated until they die, like the man with the iron mask? After all the years they had been locked and abused in that Vietnamese prison, it seemed too cruel to end like that. Even he could see that. And, if any other more drastic solution to the problem was going to be implemented, it should be final. It would be a shame, because he sympathised with these men, and how much they had suffered, and he didn't want the situation taking that turn, but that would show more mercy, like putting to sleep a sick, wild animal that could not be released back into the wild, rather than keeping it alive in a cage until it died.

The other four men, on the other hand… He wouldn't mind getting rid of them for good. He didn't know why yet, but he knew they were dangerous. Very dangerous. A liability, and a pain in the arse already. Some idiots in the agency and the army, clearly romantic people without vision, claimed they should be treated like heroes, receiving medals, and public honours, if the issue of the POWs ever reached the public. _Bunch of morons_.

"Major Lockhart, when do you think this ink would wash off my fingers? It's so annoying," the alleged general said. "It has been more than two days already since you sneakily took our prints, even if I had told you the first day I didn't want to have it done until I was feeling better."

"You were unconscious most of the time during the first two days at the ICU. You are mistaken, because you never said that, and if you did, if you really declined to have your prints taken for a positive identification, it must be because you have something to hide."

"Not necessarily. Maybe I needed a bit of time before you told the world POWs from the Vietnam war are alive, because that is what you are going to do, don't you? Tell the public about us?"

That man irritated him so much, it was unbelievable. He provoked an odd, visceral hate. And, the bastard was already suspicious of the outcome... Well, jerk… tough! You may never leave Thailand, after all, so keep smiling if you want.

"But now that you got the prints you should be able to confirm that we are indeed POWs," General Everson continued. "What's taking so long to proceed with the positive ID? Oh, I see, perhaps you wish all the computers in the world would be linked in a world wide web, to make your life easier?"

He should punch that face to erase that grin. And, why was that man allowed to smoke cigars in a hospital?

"General, I think the major here has got the point," said the alleged sergeant, also insolent and sharp. "Major Lockhart, we love cooperating, of course we do, but we would like to get a hero status and public recognition as soon as possible, you see?"

"I'm preparing a little surprise for you, so maybe you will get the recognition you deserve quite soon," the major said with a sly smile. The pair looked at each other then, suspicious. _Yes, it's happening, and there is nothing you can do about it._ "I think I better leave now to ultimate the details, and leave you here resting. You look a bit pale. Good afternoon," he said, leaving the room with a sinister grin on his face, feeling the two pairs of eyes on his back.

AAA

Later that afternoon, Hannibal complained of a sudden, acute pain in his abdomen. When the medical personnel took him away to investigate the cause, B.A took the chance to have a chat with Face.

"How are you doing, Face?"

"I'm fine, thank you, I'm doing well. But I'm worried about Hannibal now."

"Yeah, me too. He was doing so well. He should not be feeling no pain like that now."

"Let's hope it's just a glitch. And, how are you? How are you coping with all the grilling and all the questioning? I am surprised they let you wander around here so freely."

"They know I'm no going nowhere while you guys are here. And I persuaded them they should let me keep an eye on you three," he said, waving his fist with a tinkle of gold.

"I bet you did."

"Listen, I want to tell you something."

 _Oh, no, there it comes…_ _Another talk_ , Face thought.

"You are not going to have a serious heart-opening chat now, are you? I already had enough for today with Hannibal's."

"This is the first time I can talk to you on your own since I let you down."

"B.A, you never let me down."

"Yes, I did. You asked for something, and I promised nothing would happen, but it did. And I'm so sorry. Forgive me."

 _Oh, Lord, not again…_ Face thought, rolling his eyes. What was wrong with these guys?

"Look, I appreciate the effort you just made to say these two words, I really do, because I know how you hate this kind of thing, but you should stop torturing yourself. There was nothing you or Hannibal could have done to prevent what happened. Nothing. You weren't even there when they took us, for fuck sake, so how could you have kept that silly promise? And if you had been there, if I recall correctly I asked you to kill me, and if you had done that, I wouldn't be here talking to you, getting your apologies. So, please, stop it. There is nothing to forgive, and a lot to be grateful for, OK?"

"But…"

"No buts, OK? I really don't want to talk about this anymore, please. What happened, happened, and it won't happen again because no way I would ever go back to that country. So, forget about it, please."

"If you insist, but I thought I had to let you know how sorry I am."

"I already knew that, B.A, don't worry. Now, how's Murdock? I'm OK in this room with Hannibal, but I miss my roomie. How is he? Like, for real. Tell me."

"As fine as that mad hatter can be. I don't see any difference."

"Well, with Murdock, the differences can be quite subtle. Where is he now?"

"He's having his beauty sleep. A power nap. That fool needs a break from himself sometimes."

"I think so too. It must be exhausting for him being… him." They both chuckled at that notion then.

"What's up with that jerk, Face?"

"You mean Major _Lovefart_?"

That got them laughing again.

"Yeah, that sucker. What's he up to? I saw him coming outta here with a mean smile before. I could smash his face into next month! He's so slimy. He gives me the creeps!"

"Whatever he's planning, it can't be good. Well, we'll see. There is nothing we can do other than wait, anyway, especially now, if Hannibal is having some complications. Just keep your eyes open, and please, don't hit anyone. Don't give them any reason to lock you away."

"I'll try my best. Rest now, man, you look quite pale again."

"Too much _deep_ talking today. You're killing me, guys."

"I meant what I said: I'm sorry."

"I know, I know… Go now, please," Face said, yawning. He certainly was tired.

"Alright, sleep tight. I'll see you later."

After he left, Face lay in bed worried about Hannibal, and about all of them, wondering what that slimeball Major _Lovefart_ was up to now.

AAAAA

 **A.N – It couldn't be that easy from now on, could it? As I killed my psycho baddie, I had to get another one immediately, for balance, hahahahaha.**

 **Thank you all for reading and for your kind reviews. I'm afraid this ff site was having trouble last week and it took a while until I could read them all, because some of them didn't even appear in my mail alerts. I didn't reply to any of them, sorry. But… keep them coming and I will! ;)**


	20. Chapter 20

**Chapter 20**

After only a couple of hours, Face woke up again in the evening because his bladder was quite full, and the urge to empty it bothered him too much to carry on sleeping. Besides, he was hungry.

"Face, how are you?"

Face focused his attention on that sweet voice, turning his head to the right to find its owner. It was Tia's. The girl sat on a chair by his bed, no longer wearing the ugly, military clothes, but her own, the tiny little shorts and tight shirt Quang had kept safe for her in his medical bag. Those clothes fitted her slender body and long legs —now in gorgeous, full display again— far more nicely than the Vietnamese uniform. She even had her multifunctional, and ever so useful, colourful headband back on. It looked bright and clean now, though, without a trace of their blood.

As usual over the last couple of days, she gently got hold of his good hand and started caressing the back with her thumb, absentmindedly, almost mechanically. He wished she would stop doing that every time she came visiting, because he liked the contact of her soft skin too much. Way too much to refrain himself and act normally, specially while she was wearing those very distracting, little shorts that didn't leave much to imagination.

He loved her shorts.

"Hey, Tia," he said, looking at them with a silly smile on his face. "I'm fine, thank you. And you?"

"I'm OK."

"You don't sound too convinced. Is everything alright? Is Major _Lovefart_ giving you trouble again?"

"Yes. He wants to take me somewhere. So far, B.A's fist has convinced him I should stay here with you guys and Quang."

"How's my favourite healer doing? Is the concussion better?"

"Yes, he's feeling better. That major also wants to take him out of the hospital for questioning. What's going on, Face? Would we be able to defect to the US or not? Those American soldiers don't look very enthusiastic about it. They don't want us."

"I don't know what's going on, Tia. I don't like the way they are handling this. By the way, have you seen Harlow or Conley since we arrived?"

"Not since we got off the helicopter at that military base, no."

"I haven't seen them either. I hope they are alright. What about Hannibal? Any news on him yet?"

"The head nurse told me they had to take him back for surgery. Some sort of complication. I don't know anything else."

"What sort of complication?"

"I don't know. That's all she said."

"Shit. That sounds serious."

"I hope not. He was doing very well."

"Is B.A around?"

"Yes, he's in the TV room, with Murdock. Winding each other up," she said, chuckling. "Are they always like this?"

"Pretty much, yes. Can you please tell him I want to talk to him again?"

"Yeah, sure. Do you need anything before I go?"

Face looked at his hand still in hers and thought for a moment on a suitable answer to that question, something that didn't make him look like a perv, and decided not to say anything. The truth was, he needed something pretty urgently: to pass urine in the glass sheath, because with all those tubes, IV lines, the arm support, and all the bits and pieces he was still attached to, he couldn't leave the bed to use the toilet, and his bladder was about to burst. He had the container resting on the side table, but unfortunately, he couldn't reach that well on his own with one hand, not without hurting his ribs and aching abdomen.

"No, I'm fine," he lied.

He would have to wait until one of the nurses came prodding his body, with one excuse or another, as they seemed to do every twenty minutes. Or maybe B.A could help him again, as he did at Quang's. It didn't matter, because most nurses at the hospital would happily help him on that task, fighting for the privilege of handling his floppy manhood. Some of them were a little bit _too_ keen, like Hathai, the gorgeous, Thai young nurse who nearly gave him a full hand job the day before, until she got interrupted by the arrival of the head nurse. And some others would merrily go to the extremes of wiping his arse at the most embarrassing moments of all, when he had felt the need of opening his bowels, which had happened a couple of times already.

To be confined in bed like that sucked big time, and he hated it, but at least his roomie Hannibal was also bedridden at the moment, with that shattered leg, and they could have little competitions about nursing care and their level of dedication, or silly, childish contests like who would fill the urinary container faster, and fuller.

"OK. I'll find B.A for you then."

"Thanks, Tia."

As soon as she left the room, one of the nurses came in, as expected. To Face's dismay, it was Lawan, the head nurse at the trauma ward, and the oldest one. The grumpy, Thai dragon lady that couldn't care less about his enchanting powers, including his little soldier in need.

"How are you this evening?" she said, ramming a thermometer in his mouth, grabbing his wrist to check his pulse as if she was handling a dead fish.

"Fine, thanks, sweetheart," he said, pushing the thermometer to a side with his tongue as if it was a fag, to talk a bit better, "but I need a wee. Can you help me with that, please?"

"Aren't you trying to use the sheath on your own yet, as I told you yesterday you should do from now on? Not all of us are like that Hathai, you know? We have more important things to do with our hands," she said while adjusting the rate of the drip, slowing it down a bit. Less IV fluids would mean less pissing about, in every sense of the word.

Face couldn't help but blushing at that last remark. How much did she know?

"No, don't blush as if you had any shame left, mister! I saw what happened, and it is unacceptable. That kind of thing won't happen again in my hospital or she will get fired, so don't encourage her, or anybody else. I won't tolerate that kind of hanky-panky in my ward!"

"Well, no, I won't. I haven't… Oh, shit. Look, I would really like to pee on my own, you know, but I have a broken arm, still hanging for the sling, and my ribs don't…"

"Excuses, excuses," she interrupted, waving her hand, stern. "Where there's a will, there's a way."

"Well, I haven't found my way around it yet. Or my will to self-harm, for that matter… Are you going to help me, or will you stay there watching, cheering and clapping while I get all wet, covered in piss? I could do that, but then you'll have to change the sheets. And give me a bath."

She sent him a glacial look then, unimpressed by those pleading, manipulative, blue eyes that would melt any of the younger nurses to a puddle. She got a pair of latex gloves and put them on quickly, snapping them with a loud, menacing slap as she let go of the rubber rim. Then she grabbed the urinary glass sheath from the side table, found her way to his penis, which she handled quite roughly, pulling from it as if it had super-elastic properties, and helped him to relieve himself. After he finished, she left the nearly filled to the rim sheath —that would have earned him the Pissing Championship trophy if Hannibal was around to see it— back on the side table for a moment while she removed the gloves, paying attention to the cigar butt left on the ashtray.

"By the way, no more smoking," Lawan said, searching for the rest of the cigars. She found a bunch in the drawer and took them all at once in her hand, stuffing them into her uniform's pocket.

"Come on! Why?"

"Because this is a hospital, after all, and not a cocktail party. Smoking is bad for your health, anyway, and it should be banned here. That's what that major said, and he's right."

"Who, Major Lockhart?"

"Yes."

Face groaned then.

"Come on, Lawan, babe. That man is a boring prig and a party-pooper! Let us have a bit of fun and we'll get better sooner, I promise. And the sooner we get better, the sooner we'll be out of here and out of your sight."

"Sorry. I got orders. No more smoking in here."

"All right. Take the cigars, but please, leave that lighter. It's a special one."

"Special? You only had it for three days!"

"Still, I like it. I got really attached to it. Please, leave it."

"All right, all right, I'll let you have the lighter then. But don't burn the place down in revenge like a spoiled brat."

"Never. Thanks, Lawan, darling," Face said, sending her a beaming smile, which the older, robust lady ignored. Hathai had told him Lawan means _gorgeous_ in Thai. Unbelievable. What an ill-fitting name. "What's for dinner?"

"Soup."

"Oh, great. Tainted water. I can't wait!"

"Shut up or I'll give you none!"

She pulled the thermometer off his mouth and checked the level of mercury. Satisfied with the number, she scribbled on the chart, turned around and walked to the door.

After she left, Face flicked his right hand and put the cigar he had just picked from her pocket in his, to keep it safe there. _Cow_.

AAA

"What's up, Face? Tia said you wanna talk," B.A said, taking a seat by him.

"Yes. I want to ask you something. Have you seen the POWs since we arrived here?"

"No. And I'm worried about them."

"Yeah, me too. Can you ask to see them?"

"I did, but them suckers gave me some excuses," B.A said, growling.

"Well, try again, and try harder. There's something quite dodgy going on. I wonder why they don't allow them to come visiting."

"OK. I'll find out where they are."

"And please, don't let them take Tia away. She may _disappear_ in the system, you know?" Face said, looking worried.

"Never. Little lady is with me, don't you worry about that."

"What about Hannibal? Do you have any more news about him?"

"Only that he needed surgery again."

"And do you think that's a genuine claim?"

"Yeah, I think so. The army guys may have a filthy agenda, I don't know, but the doctors here are OK."

"Ask to see him too. Insist a little, and make sure he's alright. I don't trust anybody right now."

"OK, right away," B.A said, standing up. "Take care, and don't think too much. Chill, please."

"Yes, I'm trying, but I'm becoming a bit paranoid, I know."

"We already have a crazy fool in the team. We don't need another one."

"Thanks, B.A, I'll bear that in mind," Face said, pouting.

AAA

They brought Hannibal back to the trauma ward the next day. The drain in his abdomen had got displaced, and the tip had wrapped around a loop of intestine. The doctors said the chances of that rare complication happening were about one in a million, but, fortunately, they had removed the offending drain so quickly that no real, irreversible damage was done, other than the sudden pain.

"So, how are you feeling, one-in-a-million guy?" Face said when his C.O was settled, back on his bed and the soft pillows, with the damaged leg supported on the sling. "You gave us a scare."

"I feel great, thanks. The doctors pulled both annoying drains out, and yes, I feel _special_ now," Hannibal said, grinning. "But they didn't let me smoke at the ICU. Do you…?"

"Yes, of course," Face said before he could finish the sentence, producing one cigar from the hospital's gown front pocket, the one he had smuggled from Lawan's.

"Nice, Face. Beautiful!"

"I kept that one specially for you." Face threw him the cigar, that landed on his bed, by his side. "Make the most of it, because it's the last one."

"Lighter?"

"On the side table."

"How come it is the last one? You didn't smoke them all, did you? We still had a few left yesterday."

"One of the nurses told me Major _Lovefart_ was lobbying to ban our cigars, and she agreed with him. She took them all away."

"Lawan?"

"Of course. Who else?"

"He's such a miserable killjoy, that man, and she's no better," Hannibal said while lighting the cigar. He puffed some smoke then, and remained silent for a while, lost in thought. "I'm worried about Harlow and Conley. Have you seen them?"

"No. Not since we landed at the hospital. I'm worried too. Where are they? B.A hasn't seen them either, and they don't let him contact them. At least he's protecting Tia, but the POWs are missing. You don't think they got rid of them, do you?"

"I hope not, but it is a possibility. I have serious doubts Lockhart and his superiors will go public with this. And if they don't, I doubt they would let them walk free."

"Do you mean they would keep them locked for ever? That's so unfair!"

"If they don't kill them, yes. I can't see this having a happy ending for them if they don't go public. And, if that happens, they'll put a lid on us too."

"Shit."

"Indeed."

"We have to get out of here."

"Definitely, but I can't even walk to the toilet, let alone getting out of here on my own feet. And you are not any better."

"By the way, talking about toilets, I won. Yesterday I filled the glass so much it nearly spilled the piss all over me."

"Nah, I didn't see that. It doesn't count," Hannibal said, smiling with the cigar between his teeth.

"I knew you would say that. Damn it."

As they engaged in a silly discussion about the rules of that absurd, idiotic competition, Major Lockhart came into the room, interrupting them.

"I see they got you back from the ICU, General. Everything alright? How are you feeling?"

"Peachy. Thanks, Major."

"Where did you get that cigar from?" the major said, frowning. "The head nurse seized them all yesterday."

"What can I say? I have my sources," Hannibal said, with a mysterious, suspenseful tone.

The major made a gesture to take the offensive cigar, but Hannibal held it out of his reach.

"Ah, ah, ah. No. Leave it."

The major seemed to ponder the value of a physical fight to get hold of that cigar, but decided against it.

"I'll let you finish this one, but smoking if forbidden now, so the next time I see you with a cigar, behaving as a naughty boy, I'll snatch it and give you a slap on the butt, OK?"

"No, I'm not OK with that, no. That's harassment."

"Whatever. I'm not falling into your game. I can see you have a problem with authority."

"Not with the right kind of authority, no."

Hannibal enjoyed the way the major was fuming. He loved irritating him too much to stop.

"Where are our friends, Harlow and Conley? Why are they not here visiting us?"

"Sorry. There are fine, but it won't be possible for you to see them at this point," Major Lockhart said, evasive.

"Why is it not possible?" Hannibal said. "Of course it is, unless they are dead. That would be a good reason, wouldn't it?"

"Dead? Why would they be dead?" Major Lockhart said, looking uncomfortable.

"I don't know. For a number of reasons. One of them would be that you had them killed, because they are inconvenient to you. As we are."

"Don't be ridiculous! Why would I order that?"

"Look, you know perfectly well why, so stop this nonsense. Don't insult my intelligence, please. If they are alive, bring them in, so we can see them. Otherwise…"

"Otherwise what?" the major cried then, very cross now after the slow build-up of petty confrontation and ball-busting since he had arrived at the room. "You are not in a position to make demands, you know, General? Well, if that's what you are."

"Still no luck with the fingerprints, ah? Pity," Face said.

"No, no luck with the prints yet, but I have a surprise for you. Later. In the meantime, I'll bring your friends for a quick visit, if that's the only way to convince you they are fine. Honestly, your accusations are ridiculous, and highly insulting."

"In that case, if I'm mistaken, I'll apologize to you when I see them alive and well," Hannibal said.

"All right. Give me a couple of hours." _And be prepared to kiss my ass, moron._

AAA

When Harlow and Conley arrived at the hospital, they all gathered in Hannibal and Face's room for a little reunion party.

"Hey, look at you! You're looking great. All scrubbed up and putting some weight already. Nice!" Murdock said from the wheelchair.

"Yes. They don't let us leave the base, but at least they are feeding us nicely," Harlow said, grabbing his imaginary love-handles. They wore sharp, military fatigues instead of the rags, and they had a good trim, sporting now a short haircut and a clean shave of their unkempt beards, which made them look very different, and much younger. "How are you guys? We were worried about you. Did they fix you alright?"

"Yes. We are fixed, like brand new; arms, legs and all," Face said, shaking his fractured arm a bit inside the fixed sling that kept it elevated, in a similar way Hannibal had his fractured leg elevated to allow drainage.

"So, guys, where have you been these past few days?" B.A said.

"At the Thai Army base. They didn't let us leave the premises," Conley said. "When will they take us back to the US?"

"I don't know. They should take you there to see your families, even if we are stuck here until we get better," Hannibal said.

"Have they contacted our families?" Harlow said. "I asked that major a few times already, because I want to see my wife and daughter, but he always gives me excuses."

"We also want to go to America, but I don't know when that will happen," Tia said.

"Tia, is that really you?" Harlow said, paying more attention. "I hardly recognize you without that hideous Vietnamese uniform. Wow."

"Yes, it's her, and yes, she looks gorgeous without that uniform," Face said, oddly annoyed. _And, if you are really thinking about your wife, stop looking at her legs and drooling all over her!_ He reckoned the way he felt then, with that jealousy, taking on the role of "protector" of her virtue while he was the same scumbag he had ever been, was quite funny.

They carried on talking for a while, having a fun, relaxing time until Quang walked to the door.

"What's that? Please, be quiet for a second," he said, listening, and they all shut up for a moment. A woman was crying on the corridor.

"I don't care, Major! I'm here to see my husband and that's what I'm going to do! Where is he?"

Indistinctive masculine voices tried to placate her, without success, as she carried on demanding to see her husband, coming closer to their room.

Hannibal looked at Face then, pointing at his chest. _"Me?"_ he whispered without a sound. Face shrugged his shoulders.

Then, Major Lockhart opened the door and came into the room, followed by a petite, thin lady on her sixties and the American Ambassador, Richard Daniels, who was escorting her.

The lady's eyes wandered quickly over all the people present in the room and then focused on Hannibal's. He could see the disappointment on her face, as clearly as the smugness radiating from the major's through his condescending sneer.

 _Shit. He got us. It was time._

AAAAA

 **A.N – Sorry for the delay in posting this chapter, but I have been busy translating this same story to Spanish, and I got distracted while writing a funny, smutty A-Team short story that I'll only post here in the M rating section after I finish with this one.**

 **(I know I'll be too embarrassed to carry on with this story if I post the comedy-porn now. And the characters will never be the same after that! :D )**

 **Thanks for reading and reviewing. I hope you'll have a laugh with the other story when I finally post it. In the meantime, the boys are still finding their way to the US from Thailand.**


	21. Chapter 21

**Chapter 21**

"Oh my God! Arthur! You are alive! I can't believe you are alive!"

After her initial, apparent shock, that woman rushed to the bed and hugged Hannibal, kissing him all over his face.

 _"The name is Margaret,"_ she whispered on his ear. _"Come on, do something! You are acting like a corpse!"_

It still took Hannibal a few seconds to react, and then he did, embracing her tightly, crying without tears, in a superb, over-emotional performance fit for a Hollywood A-list star.

"Margaret! I thought I would never see you again! Thank God you're here!"

Hannibal looked at Major Lockhart while blinking false tears away, peeping over that woman's locks as she cried on his chest. Lockhart looked so cross he could self-combust on the spot at any moment.

"Madam, are you sure this is your husband, General Arthur M. Everson?"

"What do you mean?" that fierce woman said, lifting her head off Hannibal's chest to look at the major. "Of course he's my husband! Why on earth did you bring me here if you thought he wasn't him?"

"Are you sure, Mrs Everson?" Daniels said, producing a file with the general's picture at the front. "I know you haven't seen him in sixteen years, but this man hardly looks like the man on this photo."

"Let me see that," she said, snatching the file. "This is an awful picture of my husband. You could have done better than that." She shoved the file into the ambassador's chest and returned to Hannibal's side, grabbing his head between her shaky, bony hands. " _He_ is my husband. Of course he is. My Arthur." She kissed him then, deeply, and Hannibal responded to that kiss, embracing her.

B.A cleared his throat then and grabbed the handles of Murdock's wheelchair.

"Come on, guys. Let's give them some space. Let's get out of here."

They all walked to Murdock's room, with a couple of soldiers watching them closely, and only the major and the ambassador stayed there.

"Do you mind going out as well? I would like to have some privacy with my husband, thank you," Margaret said, looking at them, and then at the door.

"What about him? Even if we go, you won't be alone," Major Lockhart said, pointing at Face.

"I don't care about him hearing us. He was in that prison with him, wasn't he? Sorry, young man, it will only be a moment." She closed the privacy curtain then, dragging it all around Face's bed.

"Don't mind me at all. As if I'm not here," Face said from behind the curtain.

"Now, you two, go away, and let me talk to my husband. I want some privacy. Go away."

That woman walked them to the door and closed it on their backs to be left alone with her _husband_.

"Now, mister, let's cut the crap. I know who you are. And you are not my husband!" she said in a low voice, staring at Hannibal's concerned blue eyes with anger firing hers. "Why are you doing this? Why?"

"Believe me, ma'am, I thought about this, about the pain this charade would cause to the families of these unfortunate soldiers, raising false hopes, but I didn't have a choice. I'm sorry."

"You will never understand how disappointed and furious I am right now!"

"I know, and I'm so sorry. But I'm also very grateful because you didn't blow my cover. Thank you for that."

"I may still do."

"I hope you don't. But, excuse me, what exactly did you mean, saying _you know who I am_?"

"You are Coronel Smith, from the A-Team. And he is Lieutenant Peck," she said, pointing at the curtain. "Don't try to deny it!"

"I would appreciate if you keep that believe to yourself," he said, lowering his voice even more.

"Why would I? I came all the way from California thinking my husband was alive, after all these years, only to find _you,_ this… impostor. I'm so angry I could smother you with that pillow!" the fiery little lady said then, pacing the room to calm down.

"That would not be too difficult in my condition," he said sheepishly.

"Don't tempt me!" she said, stopping to look at him. Then she added, in a much softer tone, showing some concern. "All right, what exactly happened to you two?"

"Trouble with a helicopter. Well, no, two different ones, actually. He crashed the first one, and I fell off the second one."

"Thanks for reminding me, Hannibal," Face said from behind the curtain. Margaret drew that side a bit, so he could see them.

"If you must be on the conversation, young man… Please, join us."

"Thanks ma'am."

"But don't worry, Mrs Everson, we are on the mend now," Hannibal said. "How do you know about us?"

"You helped my friend Ann Bailey a few years ago. That's the only reason why I haven't rat you out yet."

"Ann Bailey… Bailey…" Hannibal said, thinking.

"I think she's that lady from Fresno, is that right?" Face said. Margaret nodded.

"Yes, that's right," Hannibal said. "She and her husband John had a recycling business. How are they doing? Any more problems with the Carlson brothers?"

"No, they've been fine since you left. Those thugs learned their lesson. Never bothered them again."

"It's good to have a follow up on our cases," Hannibal said, with a wide smile. "Hey, I think I remember something now… Yes, I didn't make a connection with the name before, but if I remember correctly, Mrs Bailey asked me if I knew a General Everson in Vietnam."

"Yes. When I found out she had hired your team, I begged her to ask you if you had any information about my husband. And you said no. You probably don't remember me, but I saw you briefly in her house one afternoon, as I left, when you came in."

"No, sorry, I don't remember you. And I didn't know your husband then. Unfortunately, I still don't, and I never will. I'm so sorry to be the one telling you this: your husband is dead."

"That's the feeling I had for a while, yes," she said, wiping off some stray tears.

"We helped the last three POWs to escape, but I'm afraid your husband died when he tried to escape from that prison seven years ago, along with several others. Major Conley, one of the men that was here before in this room, got re-captured during that failed escape attempt, and he lost one eye as a result. You should talk to them, Captain Harlow and Major Conley. And you should also talk to Quang, the Vietnamese healer, who was the last man to see your husband alive. Yes, you should have a chat with them all. I'm so sorry to have given you so much hope, coming here, I really do. And I'm specially sorry because we didn't know what was going on in those prisons. We should have got there sooner."

"The government knew! We, the families at the National League of POWs and MIAs, we kept telling them to do something about it, to try to find our men and bring them home! But they ignored us."

"Well, as you know, I'm not in the Government's _good boys_ list anymore. I haven't been for a long time."

"I don't blame you for that. But you must understand how disappointed and angry I feel now, with the whole world. For what you are saying, Arthur died seven years ago, so he was in that prison for at least six years after the war ended. That should not have happened! And nobody did anything about it!"

"I agree, and as I already said, I am very sorry. I hope you can forgive me one day."

"Don't worry. I have already. But nothing can take away these feelings of despair."

"I'm sorry."

"Thank you. Now, what's going to happen to you and your men? When are you coming back home to the US?"

"I don't know." Hannibal said.

"Probably never, if they manage to run those fingerprints before we heal and are back on our feet," Face said, shaking his fractured arm a bit. "And that's going to take a while."

"No, you can't wait that long. You should request a transfer to an American hospital. Now. Before they find out who you really are. I'll pull some strings."

Hannibal looked at her again, puzzled, tilting his head.

"Who are you, again?"

"The wife of someone who would have been proud of helping you. And, disappointed as I am because you are not him, bringing you guys back home it's the best thing I can do to honour his memory. As least, that way you could carry on helping people, like you did with Ann and John, and like you did with the lucky men that you rescued from that camp."

"Wow. Thank you, ma'am. I'm impressed."

"You will be, when I finished with that slimeball of Major Lockhart. The nerve he had, bringing me all the way here to break my heart only to confirm that you are not my husband! I bet he expected witnessing a public meltdown!" She grabbed the clipboard hanging at the end of the bed, with Hannibal's medical record and the hospitalization sheets, and had a quick look through the papers. "Besides, they are morons. My husband was O negative, the universal donor type. I know that because he gave blood regularly. You are A positive. They should have spotted that, rather than trying to prove you are not Arthur only because I say so!"

Hannibal couldn't help but laughing them, heartedly. That little, witty lady was a handful!

AAA

"What's going on, Major?" Ambassador Daniels said at the hospital's corridor, upset. "You insisted we should not go public with this, because these men are a fraud, and now we have a positive ID from one of the widows!"

Major Lockhart was cross, very cross. He had tracked the surviving relatives of the POWs, and so far, he had contacted only General's Everson's widow, for "damage control". And he was sure that poor woman would be in shock, because there was no way she could recognize that man as her husband. However, she had just done that, insisting that man was indeed the general! How on Earth did that happen?

From their arrival in Thailand, there was a delay to find their files, but finally, a condensed, brief copy of the military records arrived by fax on the second day. As he suspected from the first day, the details on the POWs didn't completely fit with these men, with some discrepancies on physical attributes, like age, height and eye colour, for example, and some of them didn't look much like the men on the pictures. Only Conley and Harlow did, but he already knew that would be the case. But, that incomplete copy of the files didn't include a picture of their fingerprints, or their blood type.

The whole search for their records had been a shambles, a total fiasco, as the original files of those soldiers had been misplaced, still to be found, and the fingerprints never made it into a computer, or into the file copies. Nobody had bothered to transfer the prints of _dead_ people into the system, and now, they couldn't find the original files.

Besides, these men had all alleged foggy memories that didn't allow them to remember important details of their lives before the war, and the psychiatrists had dismissed Lockhart's claims that these men could not really be the POWs they claimed to be, based on their inability to confirm basic data from the past. To his annoyance, the psychiatrists had put it all under the umbrella label of "Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder", and they had stated those discrepancies could be normal and didn't prove anything either way.

These irritating men should have been identified within 24 hours, at the most, and it had been six days already since their arrival. However, without a positive ID from a fingerprint match, he couldn't do much. And now he had a very strong-willed woman, certified as "sane" by a US psychiatrist prior to travelling to Thailand, claiming that man was indeed General Everson. What an unexpected backfire!

"Major?"

"It cannot be, it simply cannot be," he mumbled. "She must be lying. Why? I don't know."

"Major, find me a positive ID on these men, and do it by tomorrow! This is beyond a joke! The president is waiting. We are all waiting!"

AAA

"What about our families, Major?" Harlow said when they got back to the Thai Military Base, at one of the meeting rooms. "Where are they? Have you contacted them?"

"Yes, we have enquired about your relatives. I don't have good news, I'm afraid."

"What do you mean? What happened? Where's my wife?" Conley said, sitting opposite to him on that large table.

"I'm very sorry, but your wife died of cancer five years ago. Your mother died last year, of pneumonia, and your only surviving relative is your father. He is in a nursing home. He suffers from advanced Alzheimer's. It's very unlikely he will recognize you."

Conley was silent for a moment, dealing with the devastating news. Harlow stood up and lay a hand on his shoulder, for support.

"What about my sister? Why did you say my father is my only surviving relative?"

"She died on a traffic accident three years ago. I'm very sorry."

That piece of information finished him off, and he broke down in tears. All that time and all that suffering with the hope of seeing them again, for nothing.

While he cried, Harlow looked at the major with apprehension, but with a clear question in his eyes: _what about my family?_

"Your case is a little bit more complicated, Captain."

"Where's my wife? And my daughter. Are they alive?"

"Yes, they are alive. They are fine."

Harlow sighed deeply then, still with his hand at Conley's shoulder. While he wept, Conley tapped at that supportive hand. At least his friend would be alright.

"Why are they not here then?"

"Because we haven't contacted them."

"Why not? You contacted Ha… General Everson's wife."

"Yes, but as I said, your case is more complicated."

"Why? What do you mean? For Christ sake, Major, tell me what's going on! Stop beating around the bush and tell me what's wrong!"

"You were declared missing in action, and later officially dead. She re-married six years ago and has a new family now, with two other kids. That's why we haven't contacted her, until we talked to you first. We only found out this afternoon. We had trouble tracking her due to her new maiden name," he lied shamelessly, but Harlow bought it. He had known for three days already.

Harlow stood there, not moving, totally shocked. The only reason why he had been able to endure all the years in that prison was the hope of seeing his wife and daughter again. And now he could see them, but not having them back. His whole world had flipped upside down.

"I'm sorry, but you insisted on knowing. And now that you do, you should think carefully about your next step: do you want to upset your wife, and burden her with the knowledge you are still alive, or do you want to let her carry on with her new life? Your daughter won't even remember you. She was too young when you got captured. In my opinion, it would be quite selfish to burst into their lives now. I know it will be hard for you, but knowing now, in her new situation, would be even more taxing on your wife."

Harlow just looked at him, stunned, unable to react, until he swallowed hard and nodded slightly.

 _I got you! Yes, because we really don't want anybody knowing you two are alive,_ Lockhart thought.

AAA

When Daniels took her back to the US Embassy, Margaret Everson asked for a phone and got on with the task of calling her contacts. She called the National League of POWs families, asking for the details of Captain Harlow's wife, and she also called some of her husband's high ranked military friends, to ask for the repatriation of the injured soldiers ASAP.

"General Stockwell?" she said when the secretary put her through.

"Yes."

"Hunt, is that you? This is Margaret. Margaret Everson."

"Maggie! How are you? I haven't heard from you for a long time. Is everything alright?"

"Yes, I'm fine. I'm in Thailand, and I need your help."

"Yes, sure. What can I do for you?"

AAA

That evening, Lockhart went through all the files and all the info he had, again, over and over, combing every detail. He stopped at the mention on an A-Team in relation with General Fulbright, the one Tia kept claiming was her father, but everybody had dismissed that detail as a fantasy. That general was still missing, and the A-Team was a group of Special Forces renegades on the run, chased by the military police in the US.

 _Special Ops. They would fit the profile of these men acting on their own and without backup in Vietnam_.

But the search of their fingerprints against the military database had not yielded any results, so how could they be them?

He got on the phone and made some calls. Soon, he was fuming. The search has not been done against the whole database, only against the POWs database! No wonder he was waiting for results that would never arrive!

"Someone will pay for this gross incompetence, I'll make sure of that!" he shouted to that military clerk. "Run the fingerprints against the whole military database right now, as it should have been done from the beginning!"

"Yes, Sir. Right away!" the orderly at the other side of the Pacific said.

"Wait! Run it first against the members of the A-Team."

"The A-Team, Sir?"

"Yes. Coronel John Smith, Lieutenant Templeton Peck, and Sergeant B,A Baracus. And Captain H.M Murdock as well. And send me their complete files right now!"

"Yes, Sir, you should have them in the next half an hour. I'll fax them to you as soon as I get them."

"Good. I'm waiting."

Lockhart hung up, slamming down the phone. He could not believe that stream of "coincidences". The original files got lost, the copies he had were incomplete, and searches had not been done properly. To him, it looked like someone had been tampering with the investigation, hampering his efforts to identify those men. And that had to be someone with great influence. Someone at the top, a big fish. But, who?

AAA

Hunt Stockwell looked at the file still in his hands. Right before Maggie called, he was pondering what to do with these men retained in Thailand, and how to bring them home without raising suspicions, after he had blocked the attempts for identification as soon as the red flags came in.

He had plans for them. Very promising plans, because he could put the skills of the A-Team to good use. But first, he had to bring them back to the US and persuade them to work for him, and that was exactly what he was thinking about when Mrs Everson called him. What a wonderful coincidence!

He was a good friend of Arthur, and he knew he had remained in a Vietnamese prison after the war ended, an issue that had always bothered him while he got in a position of power in the shadows. He was cross when in 1980, he got access to evidences that pointed out to Arthur's death in 1979, too late to rescue him now that he could launch an undercover operation. He never told Maggie because that would mean acknowledging the fact that other POWs were still prisoners in Vietnam, and nobody wanted to do that. And, as Arthur was already dead, he didn't feel the need of risking a botched operation and an international conflict to rescue a handful of men he didn't personally know.

Margaret didn't tell him the men to be repatriated were the A-Team. Instead, she insisted they were POWs that had escaped from a Vietnamese prison, and she feared for their lives. But it didn't matter, because he knew perfectly well who was at that hospital in Bangkok. And she had just provided the perfect excuse to bring them home: a concerned civilian that made impossible any cover-up to the problem. They could always make a scandal about the false POWs later on, once everybody was in the US, and then he could blackmail the A-Team to work for him. Perfect.

He left the file on the table and pressed the button on the intercom.

"Carla, put me through with the White House, please."

AAAAA

 **A.N – the muse inspired me to get Stockwell involved in this. As this story is based on the last episode of season 4 and he appeared in season 5 out of nowhere, I thought it was a fitting way to link him in. I love it when a story comes together! LOL**

 **I hope you like the new twists. Nearly done now.**


	22. Chapter 22

**Chapter 22**

While the fingerprint software ran, the naive, young military clerk at Washington got the thick files of the A-Team members and faxed them to that demanding major in Thailand. When he returned to the computer, carrying his second mug of dark coffee that morning, he found the message "Access Denied" on the screen. He thought it was odd, so he ran the program again, with the same result. Then, he contacted his superior, who told him those files and the fingerprints had been blocked for whatever reason, and that it was pointless trying to get any results from that search unless he had special clearance from the person that requested it.

The young man got on the phone and called Major Lockhart right away.

"Sir, I can't check the fingerprints you sent us against the prints of that A-Team. Access is denied. Do you have any special clearance to request that?"

"No, but it doesn't matter. I got your fax with the files, thank you. I think this would be enough for now. I'll call you back if I need any more information."

Lockhart hung up, looking at the picture he held in his left hand: Colonel John "Hannibal" Smith. The insolent face he had learned to hate in such a short space of time.

He was about to grab the phone again when he got another call. He lifted the handset and answered, a bit annoyed to be distracted, but curious at the same time because it was so late for calls.

"Lockhart."

"This is Daniels."

"Great, I was about to call you."

"Really? This late?"

"Yes. Listen…"

"No, you listen. What the hell is going on, Major? I just got a call from the White House. They requested the POWs to be repatriated as soon as possible. All of them, including the injured ones."

"What?"

"They want them on a plane, as I said, ASAP. Today, if we can. All of them, including the defectors. It looks like they want to do the damage control in Washington."

"But that's a stupid idea! I know who they are now. I finally found out: they are the A-Team."

"The A-Team? I thought they couldn't be involved in this. Or that's what Colonel Downey said."

"Yes, I believed that too, with the lack of results on the searches. But someone has been tampering with the investigation. No wonder I couldn't get a positive ID with their fingerprints, because the search was blocked by someone at the top. How did the White House get involved in this?"

"I think it was that woman, Mrs Everson. She made some calls this evening. I think she's very well connected."

"Well, don't let her make any more calls! She's involved in this somehow, because she knows perfectly well that man at the hospital is not her husband. If the president insists on the repatriation now, I'll personally deliver the group, but they will all go in handcuffs. They all lied to us. All of them, even the genuine POWs, to cover the fact those injured men are the A-Team."

"Well, I am not sure what Colonel Downey…"

"Downey has no real authority in any of this! If anything, he may be involved in the obstruction of the investigation himself, because, if I remember correctly, he was the first one insisting the A-Team was a red herring we should ignore after running the prints on the military database without any results. But that search was never done properly on the first place! This botched operation could lead to a Court Martial for him if he is guilty."

"What are you going to do then?"

"Do the White House know these men are the A-Team? Does the president know?"

"I don't know, and I don't care. All I know is that they want them all repatriated to the US. The A-Team and all the others. As I said, consider it their "damage control" campaign. I suggest you get them all on a plane and walk away. The order came directly from the Oval Office, and I am not going to argue."

"All right. I'll let them know they are going home. They'll be delighted."

Lockhart hung up, got the files in a briefcase, and left his office. It was late, close to midnight, but he had to make a late visit to the hospital. He bet John "Hannibal" Smith would be very _pleased_ to see him and the soldiers he planned on leaving behind, guarding his room.

AAA

Face was asleep when Lockhart arrived with four Thai soldiers on tow, but Hannibal wasn't. After Mrs Everson left the hospital that evening, he had felt once again the unsettling sensation of the _bad jazz_ , that odd feeling that told him things were about to go wrong, really wrong. And they did.

"Major Lockhart, what are you doing here at this late hour? Did you forget to kiss me goodnight?"

"In your situation, you shouldn't be making jokes, Colonel Smith."

"I beg your pardon? Colonel who?"

"Smith. You," Lockhart said, showing him the picture in his file. "Stop the nonsense, Colonel. You are under arrest." He gestured one of the soldiers, who approached Hannibal and handcuffed both his hands separately, securing each arm to the lateral bars of the bed while the other soldier aimed with his gun.

"Is this really necessary, Major? I've got a broken leg. I can't leave this bed, but I may need to scratch my nose. At least, leave one of my hands free!"

"I don't trust you. The A-Team are legendary for their ability to escape from tight spots. I won't risk it."

Hannibal pulled from the handcuffs, causing a metallic clinking on the bars.

"Will you scratch my nose then?"

"Shut up! These Thai soldiers will stay with you until the morning. I have orders to transfer you to a military hospital in the US, and that's what I am going to do as soon as the doctors sign the release papers and you are discharged."

"I don't think we are fit for travelling yet."

"I don't care. And it's not you who has to decide that."

Another soldier handcuffed Face the same way, securing both hands to the bed. Face had sneakily taken the arm off the supportive sling to sleep more comfortably under the effects of the night sedatives, risking the by-the-book head nurse wrath, and he didn't wake up when they placed the cuffs tightly around his wrists.

"Really? He can't even leave the bed to use the toilet. Leave him alone!" Hannibal said.

"No. You'll be restrained. All of you. I'll carry on now, visiting your friends in the other room."

"What about B.A? Where is he?"

"Having fun in a cell at the base, fully chained on hands and feet. That brute struggled with all his might. It took a while to reduce him, but he is under control now, don't you worry. Although, we may need to gag him too, because he's screaming the place down with his empty threats. Good night, Colonel Smith. Rest well." The major left the room with a wicked smile on his face. _If you can_.

AAA

They got him. _Again_. He struggled to break free from their grip, from all those hands that pulled, and pushed, and smashed, and grasped, and squeezed, all at the same time, until a couple of them pushed his head underwater. _Again_. And he couldn't breathe. _Again_. And then, one of the bastards had a brilliant idea: why not a combo, raping and drowning him at the same time? While he gurgled underwater, with his head pressed down by those cruel, ruthless hands, another avid pair pulled his trousers down. _Again_.

It was bad enough to endure drowning and rape separately. Both together was too much. Way too much. And he couldn't have it. He fought all those hands, especially the hands that restrained and pulled from his arms, with an iron grip on his wrists, until he managed to break free from the water, taking a deep breath. Then, another pair of hands pushed his chest, but that bastard made a mistake: he came too close.

AAA

Hannibal couldn't rest that night, restrained as he was by the uncomfortable, tight-fitting handcuffs that dug on his flesh, while trying to think on a way to escape from that mess. Besides, on top of the pain and the worry, he couldn't reach his itchy forehead. He only wanted to annoy the major when he asked him to scratch his nose, but in typical fashion, as it happens every time someone can't use their hands for whatever reason, everything was itching, out of his reach, specially that annoying spot on his forehead, over the stitches on the gash Quang had sutured. The soldiers were professional, impassive, and they didn't engage in conversation with him, and even less got near him for any kind of physical contact, like scratching his itchy spots, no matter how hard he begged them to do so.

A few minutes past 4 am, Face suffered one of his recurrent, vivid nightmares.

"What is he doing?" said one of the soldiers, looking at Face as he struggled with himself, pulling from the cuffs, twisting and turning wildly on that hospital bed like _The Exorcist_ girl, as if he was fighting an invisible enemy.

"Can't you see he's having a nightmare?" Hannibal cried. "Come on, uncuff him! He'll damage his fractured arm otherwise!"

The soldier approached Face to watch him more closely, but he didn't uncuff him.

"For fuck sake! At least wake him up!"

Face woke up then, screaming with his eyes wide open, gasping for air and sweating gallons. He tried to sit up, lifting his head and torso, with his heart pounding in his chest, but he couldn't do it, restrained by the handcuffs. The first thing he saw, leaning over him, was an oriental soldier that pushed his chest down. Still immersed in the nightmare, Face head-butted him, breaking his nose, and carried on pulling from the cuffs frantically, trying to break free.

"Face! Stop! You are safe, you are at the hospital!" Hannibal cried from the adjacent bed.

Face stopped struggling and looked at his C.O, looking utterly confused, still trying to get a grip on reality. Then, that injured, angry soldier punched his already sore face in retaliation, knocking him out cold on the pillows.

"What the hell are you doing? I saw that!" Lawan cried, coming into the room. She was doing extra time on the night shift and had come in quickly from the nurse's station, alarmed by the screams.

The head nurse didn't approve of the handcuffs, and even less of mistreating her patients like that, so she was fuming when she saw that soldier punching Face. Earlier on that night, she had objected at the sight of the restrains, but the soldiers didn't budge then, and they didn't remove the cuffs.

Lawan marched on into the room until she reached the bed, pushing the Thai soldier out of her way as if she was a bulldozer clearing a path in the forest, destroying everything as it went along.

"He broke my nose!" the Thai soldier complained, with both hands covering his face, while Lawan lifted Face's eyelid to check his pupil.

"As if this man didn't have enough with what he's got already, you had to hit him and give him a concussion!" she cried, looking really cross. Then, she paid attention to the sore wrists. "Remove these cuffs right now! He's bleeding!"

"We can't do that," the other soldier said.

"Where do you think he will go? I still have to help him to pee in a bottle because he can't stand up yet to use the toilet! And thanks to you, he'll be out for a few hours now! So, what difference the handcuffs are going to make?"

She told them off then in fast and aggressive Thai, barking like the dragon lady she was. The soldiers tried to argue with her, but in the end, they gave up and uncuffed Face. Better to risk the Major's anger than carry on listening to that crazy woman screaming mad.

"Thanks, Lawan," Hannibal said. "I knew you were a sweetheart under that façade of roughness and indifference. He'll be pleased to know you care, when he wakes up." Her attitude towards Face reminded him of how badly B.A treated Murdock in public, when in truth, he cared so deeply about him.

"Shut up, Mister. Don't test my patience," she said, examining the deep, bleeding lacerations in Face's wrists. She turned to face the soldiers then. "If this fracture repair got damaged by all this pulling, the surgeons will give you hell. It took them several hours to fix these bones!"

Lawan cleaned the wounds and applied a light dressing on Face's wrists, and then placed his left arm back in the sling. When she had finished, she addressed the injured soldier.

"I'll have to wake the doctor on call to have a look at your nose. He's not going to like it."

"Lawan, please, before you go, can you scratch my forehead a bit?" Hannibal said. "The stitches are quite itchy, and I can't reach."

"Are you taking the piss?"

"No, I'm serious. I keep telling them, but they don't care."

Lawan scratched his itchy spot lightly, and Hannibal sighed, relieved.

"That's much better. Thanks, Lawan."

"Those stitches should come out today. I'll take them out later."

"Thanks."

AAA

Back at the nurse's station, Lawan could not believe what had happened. How dare these soldiers mistreat her patients like that? Unbelievable. She had treated prisoners and dangerous criminals before, but they had not been handcuffed to the beds unless they were feeling much better and the risk of escaping was a real possibility, or they were too aggressive and the restrains guaranteed the safety of the medical staff. These poor devils didn't look well enough to escape, because they couldn't even stand up yet, and they were not dangerous as to need the handcuffs, even less in both hands, like the older man still had. Or that was what she thought, although the Major insisted they were really dangerous and unpredictable, with a long history of escaping from custody. Still, she didn't believe that story. It didn't look right. It didn't fit them.

She didn't want to admit it, but like everyone else, she had a soft spot for the good looking one, despite her rough attitude towards him, and she couldn't imagine that man damaging a fly. So, she decided to help them as much as she could. Although that didn't include returning their cigars. Smoking was bad for their health.

Major Lockhart returned to the hospital early the next morning. He discussed the situation with her and the doctor, demanding the transfer of the prisoners to a hospital in the US, asking for the discharge of these four men. The doctor agreed the other two would not have a problem to be transferred, as they were ready to leave the hospital, but the ones now referred as Coronel Smith and Lieutenant Peck were not ready to travel. But, Major Lockhart didn't care. He didn't care at all, and Lawan didn't like it.

AAA

The doctors at the hospital didn't want to discharge their patients so soon, at least not Face or Hannibal, but Major Lockhart managed to convince them those patients would not be discharged to a military facility but transferred to another military hospital in the US. To him, if they were not critical anymore, the injured men should be fit to travel. In the end, Lockhart arranged for a nurse and a doctor to travel on the plane with them the next day, in case anything happened on route.

Doctor Wu removed Face's drain early in the morning while he was still out, very pleased by how well both patients had responded to the treatment of their abdominal wounds and the peritonitis that had followed. He also discontinued their drips and cut down on the medications to see their progress over the next 24 hours before they had to travel.

Face woke up only half an hour after the doctor left, complaining of a headache.

"Do you remember what happened last night?" Hannibal said.

"No. And why are my wrists so sore? Did I cut my veins, tired of this place?" Face said, looking at the dressings covering his wrists.

"No. You had one pair of those too," Hannibal said, pulling from the handcuffs, that tinkled against the bed bars.

"Why are you handcuffed to the bed? And why do we have company here?" Face said, looking at the soldiers.

"Our favourite major found out who we are. He came last night, got us attached to the bed, and left two soldiers to keep us company all night. But, you had a nightmare last night. You got crazy, pulling from the handcuffs, and when you woke up you hit one of the soldiers, headbutting his nose, and he answered with a hard punch to your face. You've been out since then, for a few hours."

Face took a hand to his sore jaw. That explained the pain there, and the headache. He remembered vaguely the nightmare. Drowning and rape. The usual stuff.

"Why it always has to be me? Why do they always hit me, especially my face, no matter what I do? Why? I thought I would be safe in a bloody hospital!"

"I don't know why. It is a gift. Another one of yours. You have so many!" Hannibal said, laughing.

"Well, at least I am not attached to anything now, so I can get up and use the toilet, unlike you."

Face moved the covers away and sat on the bed. The moment he put both feet on the floor, he had two guns pointing at his face. He lifted his hands up slowly then.

"Hey, guys, calm down, I am just going to the toilet! If I can manage that, because I haven't moved from a bed in a week."

"Lawan!" Hannibal cried when they pushed Face down and grabbed his wrists again to cuff him, while he struggled, complaining, risking another hard punch to his face.

The head nurse had instructed Hannibal to call her if the soldiers gave them more trouble that morning while she was still around. On hearing his call, she came into the room quickly. It was half past nine in the morning and she was still at the nearby nurse station after that long shift, discussing the details of the transfer the next day, because she had volunteer to be the nurse travelling with Doctor Wu to take care of Lockhart's prisoners while on the plane.

When she saw what was happening, she started barking at the Thai soldiers in their language, going mental, until they let go of Face and the cuffs.

"Are you trying to get up, Lieutenant Peck?"

"Yes, I want to use the toilet. Don't you think it is time I go on my own?" Face said while she helped him to sit up again.

"Yes. Stop behaving like a needy baby. You can do it. Come on, I'll help you." She supported some of his weight while he gave his first, tentative steps towards the toilet, while the soldiers watched his every move.

"Thanks, Lawan. I knew you were a softie, after all," Face said. "Can I have the cigars back, now that I am at death row?"

"Shut up and walk."

After he finished, Lawan helped him back to bed, and the soldiers placed one of the cuffs on his right ankle, securing it to the bed.

"We have orders. He is to remain restrained. Like all the others."

"Lawan, are our friends in the other room also in cuffs?" Hannibal asked.

"Yes, they are. Doctor Wu had to sedate that crazy captain, because he didn't agree with the restraining at all."

"I thought that would be the case, yes, because I can't hear him now. Thanks, Lawan."

"You two behave now. I'll see you tomorrow."

"I can't wait," Hannibal said with his best smile.

"What's happening tomorrow?" Face said after she left.

"We are flying to the US."

"Are we? Why?"

"Apparently, the president has personally requested our transfer. I guess my _wife_ has something to do with this. Unfortunately, Major Lockhart finally found out who we are."

"Damn."

"Indeed. But don't complain too much: at least you can scratch your nose," Hannibal said, struggling again to rub his itchy forehead on the pillows. Lawan had removed the stitches earlier on, and now the area was itchier than ever.

AAAAA


	23. Chapter 23

**Chapter 23**

Murdock struggled to get out of the dark fog. He felt he had slept for long enough, but waking up was too difficult. He couldn't do it. His eyelids felt heavy, as heavy as millstones, and he couldn't open them, no matter how hard he tried.

He tried talking then, to call Quang, his wise roomie, the one that could help him lift those heavy weights off his eyes, but he couldn't open his mouth either. Then, he remembered the reason: that doctor had injected something in his arm. That would explain why he couldn't move, because this was the same sensation he had when they gave him heavy sedatives at the VA hospital. Damn doctors. Why couldn't they leave him alone? Well, maybe he should change strategy, and never, ever, let himself act crazy like that again, barking mad as if in dire need of a straitjacket… but, on the other hand, how dared those soldiers chain him to the bed like that? Damn Major Lockhart!

He wondered how the guys were doing in the other room, and how was B.A. He missed the big guy. Would they let him come to the hospital today? He doubted it. They probably had him restrained and heavily sedated as well at that military base, awaiting the transfer to the US.

With all those depressing thoughts, he wondered if waking up was worth it. No, it wasn't, so he relaxed in the dark cloud and carried on sleeping a bit longer, oblivious to the world.

AAA

In the end, B.A had to give up. During the night, he had been struggling with his restrains for hours on end, at the beginning shouting as much as Murdock in his worst days, threatening to smash anybody within reach into oblivion. But he couldn't reach anybody, the soldiers made sure of that, with all those chains so tightly secured he could hardly lift a hand away from his body.

Now he understood how frustrated his loony friend must feel when restrained inside a straitjacket. It was maddening. And the more frustrated he got, the more he wanted to scream. Until he couldn't scream anymore, because the soldiers, fed up of listening to his rants, had gagged him. He knew that the next step, if he didn't go quiet and accept his fate, would be heavy sedatives, like the ones the guys used on him all the time to drug him into a plane. And he didn't want that, he couldn't let them do that, for the sake of the whole team.

He wanted to stay awake, to be useful in case Hannibal would come up with a plan, a real one this time, not that over-used, pathetic excuse of a plan he called the _half pincer movement,_ his fancy name to get through the front door straight on. After so many years of the same shit it had dawned on him that many times, their leader, that man they venerated as a great strategist, didn't have a plan whatsoever, and he functioned on pure guts, instinct and luck. The _jazz_. But, he would still follow him to hell and back. And tomorrow, he would follow him into a plane, of all things.

The mere thought of that made him sweat gallons. Maybe the heavy sedatives would not be such a bad idea, if he carried on shouting and banging his body against the walls as a worthy inmate of Murdock's VA hospital. Maybe.

AAA

Last night, the obnoxious Major ordered his men to use the handcuffs on her too. Tia hated it, because she already felt quite vulnerable in that military base, surrounded by men, especially when they separated her from B.A, her protector and personal bodyguard. They left her on her own in a small cell, with the cuffs on her wrists, but at least they left her legs free to wander the room. Before they left, a couple of the Thai soldiers had sent her such lascivious looks that she couldn't sleep at all, alert in case they came back later to take what she didn't want to give. She promised herself that, if they returned, she would only give them a hard kick on their groins. One so hard that would sink their balls into their bodies, with such force that they would travel all their way up, to show up at their mouths.

Fortunately for them, those soldiers didn't return that night to rape her, trying her Kung Fu kicks instead, but she couldn't rest much the next day either. B.A had gone quiet in his cell, wherever that was, and she could no longer hear his angry shouting. Maybe they had drugged him.

She was restless because she didn't know what was going to happen. Would they take her and Quang to the US with the Americans or would they leave them behind, abandoning them to a sure death if they deported them back to Vietnam?

No, with all that worry and all that relentless thinking, she couldn't rest at all while waiting in that cell all day and night. Then, the next morning, when the soldiers got her out and she was reunited with B.A and the POWs on the way to the airplane, she could relax a bit at last. It wasn't an ideal situation, travelling as prisoners on handcuffs, but at least, she was with them, no longer on her own, and on the way to America, the land of his father. As she wanted.

AAA

Of the four injured men, Quang was the one that had recovered the fastest. His face had gone nearly back to normal, still showing some dark haematomas, but nothing like the horrific swelling and bruising he had after the tremendous beating he received from Coronel Shu. He was ready to be discharged from that hospital, and he dreaded the transfer to the military facility where he would be interrogated further by that crazy, demanding major, but maybe that would not happen now.

While listening to Murdock soft snoring, Quang also had time to reflect on the situation. Major Lockhart had insisted on tethering everybody to their hospital beds, and he was no exception. Although, he had no intention of going anywhere. The next day, they would go to America, and that's what he wanted. Unless that man decided to leave him behind, and deport him back to Vietnam, as he didn't have any military secrets to share with anybody, as much as he wanted to.

He was worried, because if he had to go back to Vietnam, he was dead. The same as Tia. Maybe he should spend his last hours in Bangkok inventing wild Vietnamese Top Secrets… As if that was going to work!

AAA

Margaret Everson stared at Major Lockhart with total contempt as he went on and on about how she had lied about her husband, asking her the reasons why she was helping a bunch of criminals like the A-Team.

If he was trying to intimidate her, he was failing miserably. His threats about her future in jail went over her head like summer breeze. She couldn't care less. One of the reasons why she had jumped onto that plane so quickly to see her husband, and why she had taken Hannibal's side without a second thought, was that she had run out of time. For everything. Even to go to jail. She had been given three months to live less than two weeks ago. She had pancreatic cancer and no real desire to fight it. Even less after finding out Arthur had been suffering in prison for six years before he died such horrible, painful death, shot on the back. She had talked to that Vietnamese healer, who told her about his last days alive, and to the POWs, who told her how he always had her in his thoughts while on that horrible camp. Now, she really had no will to live and preferred joining her husband at the other side as soon as possible. For that reason, she couldn't give a shit about the Major's tirade.

"I don't know what you're talking about," she said, stubborn as a mule, driving Lockhart up the walls with that attitude. "That man is my husband."

"Stop fooling around. You know perfectly well he's not!"

"You are the one fooling around! You brought me here telling me you found my husband alive in Vietnam, and now you insist that man is not him. Who is the deluded one here?"

"You are either heading for jail or for a mental institution if you persist in that attitude!"

The look she gave him could freeze water on the spot.

"Frankly, my dear, I don't give a damn."

Major Lockhart sighed then, reaching for the menacing handcuffs he had left on display on the table.

"In that case, I won't, either."

"Don't you dare using those on me! You saw how fast the president sent us his plane. Don't think for a second that if I suffer such unnecessary treatment it won't have nasty repercussions for you!"

"Mrs Everson, are you trying to…?"

"Seduce you?" she interrupted him. "No, not really. You are not my type, sorry."

Lockhart was fuming like a pressure cooker, about to blow up, and she was having a ball using the lines of her favourite movies to annoy him. He looked so furious when he put the handcuffs back in his pocket, she couldn't help but curve her lips in a crooked smile, one that exasperated him even further.

AAA

"Why did you lie to us? Why did you say these men were with you in that POW camp?" Major Lockhart asked, back at the interrogation room at the base, on a last session of Q&As. Captain Harlow was withdrawn that afternoon, not saying much, but Major Conley didn't hesitate to give him a piece of his mind.

"Well, if you can't understand we owe these guys our lives, you are even more stupid than you look," Conley said. "They got hurt while helping us, and then asked for our help to pretend they were POWs so we could get them to a hospital, and that's what we did. It was the least we could do for them, as nobody else ever bothered to come and rescue us from that hell we lived in for more than fourteen years! And look at the state they are in, as a result of helping us, for fuck sake! I don't care what they did. How do you think we could turn our backs on them, whatever the alleged crime you say they committed years ago?"

"I don't really care about your emotional motivations. The facts remain the same: you lied, obstructed an investigation, and helped convicted criminals. You are guilty, and you'll be court martialled with them."

"As if I could give a damn about that!"

Major Lockhart was fed up of all those feisty individuals that had suddenly felt that annoying him was the main purpose of their pathetic lives. They could all rot in jail forever, for all he cared. He would deliver them all to the US government tomorrow and walk away, back to a carefree, uncomplicated life in Thailand, the one he had during the last four years until these people came into his life.

When he served in Washington previous to this position at the JUSMAGTHAI, at the centre of the stressful political scene, he had developed a deep gastric ulcer that refused to heal while he was in the US, but that never gave him any more trouble after he was posted in Bangkok, despite the rich, Thai food, and the troubles he occasionally had with the United States Pacific Command in Hawaii. Well, that ulcer didn't bother him until now, because during the last few days he had felt the familiar aching of an over-acidic stomach, together with the tell-tale of heartburn. Thanks to these bunch of clowns, he should start taking antacids again, before that ulcer returned to his life.

"All right, gentlemen, I won't waste any more of my time with you," Lockhart said, placing all the files he had spread on the table back in his briefcase, and then he stood up to leave. "You'll be transferred to the US tomorrow, but don't keep high hopes of ever walking free."

The major knew that helping convicted criminals would be the perfect excuse for the military to keep them locked away in jail, not admitting their existence to the public. Problem sorted.

The soldiers took Conley and Harlow back to their cell to spend the rest of the day confined, also in handcuffs, while Lockhart went back to his office to ultimate some logistic details before the journey.

AAA

Hannibal spent most of his last day in Thailand concocting a plan, thinking on a way to escape. But, as much as he strained his tired brain, he couldn't find a viable solution to their problem. They would all be restrained on that plane, and neither Face nor he, would be in a position of making any daring moves. And B.A would be so heavily restrained, he would need Houdini's skills to get out of his bonds and be of any help. That left Murdock, Tia and the POWs, but he couldn't communicate with them to organize anything or give them any instructions. It looked like this time they would have to wait. Get to the US, get locked at the stockade again, get better, and at some point, escape from that facility. He couldn't see any other way out of it.

The naughty giggling got him out of his reverie. He looked in the direction of the sound, cross.

Maybe if Face would give up the hanky-panky behind that curtain, he could concentrate a bit better and think on something!

AAA

Unlike everybody else, Face spent a peaceful last day in Thailand, with only a fetter restraining his ankle, enjoying a freedom of movement the others didn't have. That left his arms free to embrace all the young nurses who came by at some point or another to say goodbye, giving him phone numbers and addresses he would never use. The boldest ones would even give him wet, farewell kisses and some other forms of physical contact he didn't refuse, the kind that would get them an immediate, disciplinary dismissal from Lawan. The curtain between the two beds was drawn most of the time, but as Hannibal was so lost in thought he didn't seem to mind too much.

Why couldn't he have nightmares where a bunch of willing, gorgeous nurses like these chased him and ravished him, rather than the bloody soldiers? That would be a _nightmare_ to remember, sure. But, it never happened that way.

Shame.

AAA

The next day, they all arrived in different vehicles at Don Muang airport, at the Royal Thai Military Base where they kept B.A, Tia, and the POWs.

"Guys, we are travelling in style," Murdock said at the sight of the plane waiting for them, whistling. "Look at that: a C-20F Gulfstream IV! Even better than the nice toy we borrowed from General Ekworth. I wonder if it also has all the top-notch tech the other one had."

"The US Government has taken a keen interest on your repatriation. They sent this bird yesterday from Hong Kong, especially for you," Major Lockhart said with a hint of jealousy. "You can't complain: they treat you as VIPs."

"Nice," Hannibal said from his uncomfortable wheelchair. "What else? That's the least they could do."

After the logistics of getting everybody safely on board, including medical supplies, wheelchairs, gurneys, chains, bonds and all, the plane took off, heading for a brief stopover to refuel in Tokio, as the range of that small, private jet, although fitted with extra fuel tanks, would still be too short to cross the Pacific directly from Bangkok.

The sleek plane was crowed, carrying eleven passengers, including the doctor and the nurse, plus Major Lockhart and four soldiers, and a crew of two pilots and one flight attendant.

Lockhart would have preferred taking more soldiers on board, but it had not been possible due to the lack of space and the limited carrying capacity of the aircraft. Still, five soldiers, including him, should be enough to take care a handcuffed A-Team on board. He told himself it didn't really matter how many soldiers he took with him, because at the end of the day, the A-Team were only humans with a dubious, huge legend behind; they weren't mutants with superpowers like the X-men.

All the passengers were restrained with handcuffs except Mrs Everson and the medical personnel. Some were more restrained than others, like BA, heavily chained with shackles on his neck, wrists and ankles, all linked together to restrain his movement, and a dedicated soldier to guard only him. He was having a tough time, because all that restraining wasn't helping his fear of flying in the slightest, and he had to fight hard to quell that little voice that urged him to misbehave with the hope that the doctor would sedate him, as he did with Murdock the previous day. But, fearful or not, he wanted to stay alert. He had to.

That morning, Doctor Wu had administered another local anaesthetic injection to numb the pain of Hannibal's and Face's fractured ribs, and they both rested on the recliner seats at the back of the plane, with the gurneys on stand-by in case they would need them to lie down during such a long flight. As everybody else, they wore handcuffs, but at least they were not bonded to their seats.

During the five-hour flight to Tokio everybody behaved, and Major Lockhart relaxed a bit, but not much, because after refuelling it would take at least another nine hours to cross the Pacific to arrive at Los Angeles. It was a long time for the A-Team not to try any of their legendary tricks to escape, and he had to be alert.

At Tokio, Christine, the bubbly, cheerful, blonde flight attendant, handed out their meals, that they all ate while the tanks got a refill. She took extra time and dedication tending for Face, as all the women of her type always did under any circumstances, invariably.

"Face, for goodness sake, didn't you have enough yesterday with the procession of nurses coming your way?" Hannibal said after she finally left, quite cross. He surely had enough of watching!

"No, obviously not," he said, staring at her rear end as she moved up the aisle, with a dreamy glare in his blue eyes. Then he caught the stern look Lawan was also giving him, besides Hannibal. "What? I haven't done anything! It's not me, I swear, it's them! It's always them!"

Hannibal and Lawan rolled their eyes and sighed in synchrony. Yeah, right… it was them, the bitches from hell… Right... Poor you.

AAA

Three hours after take-off from Tokio, Mrs Everson stood up for the umpteenth time.

"Where are you going? Toilet break again?" Major Lockhart said, ironic. So far, there had been no incidents during the flight, other than requests to use the toilet, specially Mrs Everson, who complained of irritable bladder syndrome and had been there six times already.

"Yes. Besides, I need to move around a bit, my legs hurt. And I want to check on my husband." Not waiting for his approval this time, she walked the short distance that separated her from Hannibal. "Are you alright, my dear?"

"Yes, my darling, I'm alright," Hannibal said, also keen to continue with their little parody.

She leaned to kiss his cheek, and then whispered on his ear: _"have you got a plan to escape?"_

He looked at her, surprised, and shook his head slightly.

 _"Shame. I'll do my best then,"_ she whispered again.

Hannibal looked at her go, wondering what the hell she was going to do, unable to stop her or at least find out what she had in mind. She walked up the aisle on her way to the toilet, and when she passed by Murdock, she stopped by his side for a moment, pretending to tie the shoelace of her trainers.

 _"Murdock, could you fly this plane?"_ she whispered.

 _"Yes, of course, even with these on,"_ Murdock replied, tensing the handcuffs, also in a low voice nobody else heard. _"Why?"_

 _"Just keep that flight attendant distracted for a moment, will you?"_

She carried on walking to reach the toilet at the front, while Murdock called Christine with some silly requests about the air con system, that soon escalated into a full-blown psychotic episode. Mrs Everson made a move as if entering the toilet, but instead, when everybody got distracted by Murdock's antics, she went behind the curtain that separated the cabin from the small kitchen area and closed it. While in Tokio, Mrs Everson had watched closely the moves of the flight attendant in the kitchen while she prepared the meals. Now, she looked in several compartments until she found the food the pilots would have later, which was separated from the other portions and labelled as such. She got the small vials where she had patiently poured the contents of her codeine capsules last night and sprinkled all that powder on the food. If she had known which other food containers would be destined to Major Lockhart and the soldiers, she could have tried the same trick with their food, but as she had no way of knowing which ones they would have, she could not drug everybody else at random, risking incapacitating Murdock and Harlow as well as the pilots. Besides, she didn't have enough codeine for everybody.

"But, how do you know the air that's blowing over my head is clean? How?" an anxious Murdock demanded to know, grabbing the baffled blonde's arms with his handcuffed hands. "Have you check the filters? Where are the filters?!"

"Let go of her!" Lockhart ordered from the other side of the plane, reaching for his gun. "And quit the nonsense! I had enough of this!"

Murdock let go of Christine's arms but carried on with his paranoia.

"Please, check the air con filters! Please! You are blowing germs all over me! You are killing me!"

"I can't check the filters!" the blonde complained, stepping back, away from that crazy man. "The maintenance crew do that. But don't worry, I'm sure the filters are clean, and the air is safe to breathe."

"Can you personally guarantee that? Can you?"

"You, crazy fool, quit the jibba-jabba!" B.A cried, unaware of the plot with Mrs Everson. He was seated by his friend's side and all that babbling was getting him insane. "I got enough with having to fly shackled like an African slave! I don't have to listen to your nonsense! The filters are fine, the air con in fine, end of! Shut up!"

Mrs Everson returned to her seat then, winking when he passed by Murdock, who gave up the hysteria and left the poor Christine alone. Mrs Everson also sent an odd look to Hannibal, who was wondering what all that frenzy was about, and how they could take advantage of the situation she was creating, whatever it was.

Two hours later, while they continued flying over the ocean, in the middle of nowhere, Christine distributed another small meal at tea time. And that's when the fun began.

AAAAA


	24. Chapter 24

**Chapter 24**

After she finished cleaning up in the cabin, Christine returned to the cockpit to take the empty plates from the pilots. She smiled when she found them both deeply asleep on their seats, with the plane flying on autopilot, as it happened sometimes during such long, boring flights. She tried to wake the captain from his postprandial siesta, because at least one of them should be awake, according to the regulations, but he was totally out and unresponsive, the same as his co-pilot. She nearly had a heart attack when she realized this wasn't simple tiredness and boredom, but something quite more sinister and serious.

She walked out of the cockpit quickly to call the doctor, thanking her good fortune because they had one on board this time. Doctor Wu got there, followed by Lawan, and confirmed her fears: both pilots were unresponsive, an unable to fly the plane. The doctor called Major Lockhart.

"We have a situation here, Sir. Both pilots are sick. I don't know what's wrong with them, but they are deeply asleep, and they won't wake up. It looks like they've been drugged."

"Bloody A-Team! This must be part of their escape plan! Damn!" Major Lockhart cried, exploding in and out with that outburst. He felt a sudden, sharp pain in his stomach then, as he feared it could happen. All the anger and all the stress these men and this whole situation provoked deeply in his guts, had finally given him another bleeding ulcer.

"Can you or any of your men fly this plane?" Doctor Wu said.

"No. But we have two war pilots here: Murdock and Harlow. They could do it, but that must be their whole fucking plan on the first place, goddammit!" Lockhart said, growling while he held his stomach with his left hand, leaning forward a bit.

"Are you alright?"

"No!" he cried, half growling, half moaning, bending even more at the waist.

"What's wrong?"

"I have an ulcer. I think all this stress made it bleed again. Fuck!"

"All right, calm down. I can give you something for that. Now, I'm afraid we don't have a choice here. We can't land on auto pilot, and I don't know how long these men will be asleep for. You must let the other pilots come into the cockpit."

Lockhart made a huge effort to stand straight, ignoring his pain, and called one of his men to help the doctor and Lawan to carry the pilots out of the cockpit. As they laid them on the gurneys at the back of the plane, everybody looked at them with worry, wondering what was happening.

"Major, do we have a problem here?" Hannibal said. "What's wrong with the pilots?"

"You tell me!" Lockhart barked, furious, waving his gun at him. "It looks like your men will fly the plane, as you wanted. But, if they do anything remotely suspicious, anything at all, I won't hesitate to shoot them down! Or you! Or anybody that moves a fucking finger in this goddamned plane unless I order you to do so! Is that clear, everybody?" he cried, livid, looking at them all with his eyes bulging, like a raving lunatic, losing it completely.

After that, he made Murdock and Harlow walk towards the cockpit at gun point.

"Who's gonna fly this plane? The fool? No way! Lemme out!" B.A cried, making a scene, fighting with his chains. "Give me a parachute and let me jump! I'll take my chances with the sharks!"

"SHUT UP AND BE QUIET!" Lockhart shouted at the top of his lungs, turning around briefly to aim the gun at B.A's face with a rather shaky hand and a very angry, red and sweaty, contorted face. Another outburst that probably made his stomach cells pour a litre of chloridric acid onto his ulcer.

B.A shut his trap and stopped struggling, because that man looked like about to blow a fuse, and that gun was way too close to his head for comfort. The major turned on his heels again and pushed Murdock forward with the gun pressed against his back until they entered the cockpit.

"Now, you two, sit down there, get familiar with the plane, but leave the autopilot on. The next time I come here, I want to see the same heading, speed and altitude," Lockhart said, checking the numbers on the dials. "When I return, I'll talk to the air traffic controllers."

"I don't think we are in full range for that," Murdock said. "Not for a while. No radar yet, and the HF radio will be a bit iffy."

The major answered with another frustrated growl.

"Aren't you removing these handcuffs?" Murdock said, stretching his arms as if trying to reach the myriad of buttons and controls above his head. "This is ridiculous. I can't reach the controls!"

While holding onto his stomach and leaning against the door frame, faltering with the pain, Lockhart made a sign to the soldier, who used the key in his pocket to remove the handcuffs while the major aimed unsteadily at the new pilots with his gun.

"Stay here with them in the cockpit. Shoot any of them if you have to, or both, don't hesitate."

"You don't want to permanently dispose of your only functional pilots, do you?" Murdock said. Then, he looked at the soldier and added, in a patronizing tone: "at least, aim low, at our legs only. The knee will do."

"Shut up and fly this thing!" the major cried, unbelieving the nerve of that man, but after all, he was certified as insane, and according to his file, capable of doing anything while at the helm of an aircraft. Any aircraft.

 _A bleeding, fucking ulcer, yes. A massive one. Definitely_ , Lockhart thought as he left the cockpit, heading for the doctor, and hopefully, a powerful antacid.

AAA

Using the VHF radio, Lockhart managed to contact the Oakland ATC centre in Fremont, California, and informed them of the situation with the pilots. They said they would let the military know of the potential trouble with the prisoners, although at the moment, the situation was under control with the two war pilots flying the plane, and they wouldn't need an emergency landing.

After that, Lockhart sat down on his seat to rest a bit and let the medication he had taken make some effect on his aching, burning stomach. Last night, despite the heartburn, he had taken anti-inflammatory painkillers for a raging headache, finishing the bad job with a glass of whisky, and that alone, according to Doctor Wu, had reopened his old ulcer, or it had helped to create a few new ones, who knew? On top of that, all the stress he was suffering recently was not helping the situation, only making it much worse, but Doctor Wu told him the stress wasn't the main cause for the ulcers, as he had mistakenly thought. Wu said that he probably had a bacterial infection in the stomach causing the damage on the first place, and that the alcohol and the pills he took last night had contributed to make his stomach bleed now. And, to end the lecture, he had mentioned that dreaded word, _cancer_ , and had asked him to go to the hospital for some tests to rule it out when they returned to Bangkok. Lovely.

Doctor Wu gave him amoxicillin, omeprazole, an injection of ranitidine to act faster, and the antacid solution, but the pain refused to go away. He could do with some painkillers, but those had caused the gastric bleeding and would only aggravate it… _Damn!_ And now, until they landed, and until he put the prisoners in the capable hands of someone else, he refused to take opioids because of the risk of getting drowsy and slow. He hated it, but he preferred to ride the pain for a few hours rather than becoming an easy target for the A-Team. _Double damn!_

He made sure the other three soldiers were monitoring the prisoners closely before he closed his eyes, trying to relax. He knew he should not get angry, shouting like a deranged wacko every time they interacted with him, but he couldn't help it. These insolent people drove him up the walls, totally insane. The only ones he could tolerate were the Vietnamese defectors, the healer and the girl, who at least talked to him politely, and didn't seek to antagonize him all the time.

He sank on his seat a bit, the one placed in the single line on the right side of the plane, a bit separated from the others, which had an individual working table in front. He looked pale and sweaty, struggling with the pain, and obviously sick. With his eyes closed, he could feel the eyes of the prisoners watching him, and he hated it, big time.

AAA

In the small space of that airplane cabin, with no place to hide and have some privacy, other than behind the kitchen curtain, Hannibal had watched the exchange between the major and the doctor with great interest, although he could not hear what they said. He had smiled when Doctor Wu gave Lockhart an injection on his rear end, and how he had complained about it. That man looked sick and in pain, which could be an advantage for them. But they still had four healthy, active soldiers to neutralize.

Margaret made a good job placing Murdock and Harlow at the cockpit, although he was very worried for the real pilots, who didn't look good. He didn't know exactly what she had done, and now, looking at how sick Lockhart looked, he had to wonder if she had anything to do with that as well.

"I suspect that with all that rage, _Lovefart_ has an ulcer," Face said in a low voice. "A good punch in the stomach would knock him down easily."

"That could kill him too if he's already bleeding. His stomach could perforate with the blow," Hannibal said, still looking at him.

"Would you care?"

"The man is a total pain in the arse, I know, but don't forget: he's only doing his job. Like Decker. Like Fulbright. Like all of them. Unfortunately, they consider us the enemy, but I don't. We shouldn't."

"Hannibal, you are bonkers. That man would not hesitate to put a bullet in your head. Or mine. Or anybody's. He said so himself."

"Maybe I'm bonkers, but that's my ethical code: US Army personnel are NOT the enemy. Whacking them a bit, make fun of them, and burst their tyres? Yes, absolutely. Killing them? No. Besides, we did enough killing at that Vietnamese prison. At least, I know I did."

"OK. Don't punch his stomach then. What about a kick in the arse? No, wait, better still: on his balls. That would be an equally effective way of incapacitating him, I think, and much more satisfying."

"Yeah, I wouldn't mind the second option, if I could use my leg... Hey, maybe I could do the _crane kick_ , jumping on my good leg to deliver a mighty kick with it, like that Karate Kid," Hannibal said, grinning. He looked around, missing on something, but not sure of what.

"I'd love to give you a cigar right now, but I can't, sorry," Face said, as if he could read his mind.

That's what he was missing! The cigar. Sometimes it looked as though Face knew him better than himself.

"Gosh, you are right, how much I need a cigar! Do you think Lawan brought our cigars with her?"

They looked at each other for a split second, with hope, and then they spoke at the same time: "naaah."

AAA

Doctor Wu didn't know how to wake the pilots up. He had tried with ammonia salts, but they only reacted to it by moving their heads away, not really waking up, not even opening their eyes a bit. These men looked drugged, as if heavily overdosed with opioids. But, how? He had no idea, and he had no naloxone to reverse the effects of such drugs. He had only come prepared to treat the injured men, not a situation like this! He had a quick look at the emergency kit of the plane just in case, but as he suspected, there was no vial of naloxone there either, hiding between the dressings, aspirins, and Band-Aids.

With Lawan's help, he set up IV lines for the pilots, gave them some oxygen through a mask, and monitored his vitals as they lay on the gurneys, hoping they remained stable and didn't get into respiratory or cardiac arrest until they landed in LA, and that at some point the effects of the drug would ease off. If that happened, maybe they could take control of the aircraft again, although he doubted it, due to the short time frame they had left for a full recovery.

Mrs Everson stood up one more time and approached Lawan. Doing so, she brushed past the major, who opened one eye to look at whoever had touched his left arm so lightly.

"Mrs Everson! If you don't stay on your seat, I'll handcuff you to it!" Lockhart cried the moment he saw her standing in the aisle again, ignoring his own advice about remaining calm.

"We talked about that already. I don't think so," she said, ignoring him. She walked a few more steps until she reached the nurse. "How are they?"

"We don't know what they took," Lawan said, checking the co-pilot's pupils, which were hardly reacting to her mini-torch. "If we knew, it would be easier to treat them. It can't be food poisoning, because they are not sick, and they are too unresponsive for that. I'm afraid at any moment they could stop breathing, as they are so heavily sedated."

"Will they be alright?" Hannibal asked, looking concerned, not for their safety while on that plane, as he trusted Murdock's skills so much, but for the pilots.

"I don't know. As I said, if at least we could know what they took…"

 _"Codeine,"_ Mrs Everson whispered, so close to Lawan only she could hear her. _"They took codeine. I put it in their food."_

The hefty nurse looked at that little, old lady with her jaw dropped, suppressing a mighty _WHAT THE FUCK?!_

 _"Maybe I put too much, I don't know. I'm so sorry. I only wanted to get them asleep, not killing them!"_ Mrs Everson continued, mortified. _"Hannibal doesn't know anything about this. It wasn't his idea. Nobody knows what I did."_

Lawan looked around, taking in the situation. That woman had drugged the pilots to get Murdock and that other thin man in the cockpit, and that meant the A-Team would try to escape, sure. She looked at Lockhart, who seemed so on edge and out of control with that gun in his shaky, tense hand, he could at any point start mass-shooting everybody. And then she stared at Hannibal, who looked poised in that recliner, although that leg should be bothering him a lot by now after so many hours in that stiff, uncomfortable position, and with the rather too tight handcuffs digging on his wrists. He looked genuinely worried about the pilots, and even a bit worried about the major, for the way he looked at him too from time to time. Then, Lawan knew without a doubt which side she had to take.

Mrs Everson's pleading eyes continued to look at her, contrite and regretful, waiting for her reaction.

Lawan nodded slightly and didn't say anything, keeping that information to herself. Doctor Wu didn't need to know. He should reverse the effects of the codeine, but he didn't have the right drugs to do it, so he could only treat the symptoms as they came along and keep the pilots alive for the next four hours until they got to LA, where they could send them straight away to a hospital. And Doctor Wu was already doing all that. Announcing now that the culprit was Mrs Everson and her codeine tablets wouldn't help anybody. She decided to keep quiet for now, keep a close eye on the pilots, and in the meantime, she could watch the bold plan unfold, without taking part in it.

 _"Thank you,"_ Mrs Everson whispered, returning to her seat. However, she had second thoughts and didn't sit down, heading for the toilet one more time. In the aisle, she made way to Christine, who was heading to the back of the plane to check if Face would need anything.

"Again?" Lockhart said when Mrs Everson passed by him.

"Yes. As many times as I need. If you had an over-active bladder, as I do, you would understand."

Lockhart watched her go, annoyed again, but all of a sudden he felt sick, retching a bout of very acidic reflux that reached his throat, burning his oesophagus. He stood up quickly, beating Mrs Everson to the toilet, pushing her aside to get in first.

"Excuse me!"

He just had time to get in and vomit some reddish liquid on the tiny sink. Mrs Everson saw that bloody mess before he slammed the door on her face. She was about to blurt a concerned _"are you alright?"_ but instead she kept quiet and got into the cockpit, closing the door behind her.

"What are you doing here?" said the soldier guarding the pilots, aiming the gun at her. "Get out!"

"Oh, sorry, I got the wrong door. I think I'm turning senile already," she joked, laughing lightly, ignoring the gun. Murdock and Harlow turned on their seats to look at her, surprised. Thinking fast, Murdock started laughing as well.

"Is it the toilet where you want to go, Mrs Everson?" he said, standing up. "It's the other door. I'll show you."

"Sit down!" the soldier barked, aiming the gun at Murdock again.

"Excuse me," Mrs Everson said, poking the soldier's back. When he turned his head a bit to look at her briefly again, Murdock punched his face hard. The soldier staggered back and lowered his guard, but he didn't fall, only stunned, and when he lifted his hand again to shoot Murdock at point-blank, Mrs Everson got hold of his wrist, latching on like a fierce bulldog. Harlow also came to help as Murdock punched the soldier again, and in between the three of them, they reduced him, taking his gun, and let him K.O before he could cry for help.

"Mrs Everson! I'm your humble servant forever. At your feet, my Lady," he said, sinking on his knees to kiss her hand.

"Come on, Lancelot, get up. We have lots to do."

"What has Hannibal planned for us?" Murdock said, searching for the key in the soldier's pocket while still on his knees.

"Nothing. He doesn't know what's going on."

"Do you mean that all this was your idea?" Harlow said, astonished, still holding the soldier's gun after whacking his head with it.

"Yes."

Murdock got her hand again, but before he could wet-kiss it, she shook him off.

"Come on, get off me! No time for this. Now, listen, the major is vomiting blood in the toilet. This is your chance to overcome the other soldiers. I'll give your friends the key to the handcuffs," she said, taking it from Murdock's hand. Then she took the soldier's gun from Harlow's and put it inside her trousers, at the back, covered by her loose blouse. "Stay alert, but don't come out yet. And, before I forget, this is for you: your wife's phone number."

She gave Harlow a small piece of paper and got out of the cockpit, leaving the two puzzled men behind.

"Is she for real?" Harlow said looking at the number written in that paper. "I can't believe it!"

"She's the general's wife. I think it shows: she likes to be in charge," Murdock said, shrinking his shoulders.

AAA

Mrs Everson sat down by Conley, passing him the key discretely, and then positioned her body to cover the view of the soldiers while he tampered with the handcuffs. When he finished, leaving the now open cuffs still at his wrists, he passed the key back to her.

"Maggie, my darling. Do you mind coming here for one sec?" Hannibal said from the back of the plane.

"Yes, dear. Coming!" She stood up again and walked down the aisle one more time. The soldiers looked at each other, but as the major wasn't there to tell her off, they didn't, either.

 _"What's going on?"_ he whispered at her ear when she reached him, so Christine, who was still lurking nearby, didn't hear him. _"What are you doing?"_

 _"Helping you,"_ she said, giving him another kiss in his cheek while she put the key in his hand. Hannibal could not believe it.

 _"Where's Lockhart?"_

 _"Vomiting blood in the toilet. Sick as a dog."_

The soldiers could not see his hands from their positions, so he turned a bit and opened Face's cuffs first when Christine returned to the kitchen area.

 _"Oh, thanks,"_ he said, also whispering, with a big smile. Then, he took the key to set Hannibal free.

 _"What had you done to the major?"_ Hannibal said.

 _"Nothing. Whatever's wrong with him, he did it to himself."_

 _"What's your plan?"_

 _"None. Improvising. I'll give this to B.A now. Conley is also free, and the soldier in the cockpit is down already."_

She took the key and sat down by B.A then, on the other row. The sofas, tables, TVs and most of the luxury features of that plane had been removed for the occasion and got placed in the cargo hold, and now the little plane looked almost like a mini low-cost commercial airline, with cramped seats with little space in between. The prisoners were on the left side, and the soldiers occupied the seats of a single file on the right, to watch them more easily.

 _"Can you use this on the handcuffs?"_

He got the key and tried, but he couldn't open them.

 _"It's a different key for these shackles!"_ B.A whispered.

 _"Shit."_

 _"Give it to Tia. She's more dangerous than I am,"_ he said, remembering how she had trashed Murdock, Face and himself in Hanoi with all those Kung Fu moves. In that small space, maybe she could kick all the soldiers with wild fury if she had the chance.

Mrs. Everson stood up again, walking up towards the front one more time.

"Mrs Everson, could you please decide which seat are you going to take?" said one of the soldiers, getting suspicious at her changing chairs little game.

"None. I need the toilet again because I couldn't use it before. Your major is taking a long time there. He must be constipated or something."

She left the key at Tia's hand as she walked along the aisle, and then she stopped by the toilet door. She watched her struggling with the cuffs, obviously not so used to remove them discretely on her own like the military men had done. One of the soldiers looked at her and, realizing she was up to something with the cuffs, got up immediately, approaching her with the gun on his hand.

"What are you doing?" he said.

"Freeze!" Mrs Everson said, taking the gun off her back, aiming at that soldier.

Conley stood up quickly and punched the soldier closest to him, who fell on his back, dropping his gun. Tia was so fast nobody knew for sure how she managed to stand up, kick the gun off the first soldier's hand and with the same momentum kick his face with the other leg, sending him to the opposite side of the plane, and all that while still wearing the handcuffs she couldn't get open.

B.A also made a move to help, but he was too slow with all the chains still on him, and when the remaining soldier that guarded him specially was about to shoot him, Major Lockhart opened the toilet door, hitting Mrs Everson with it. With the impact on her shoulder, Margaret pressed the trigger accidentally, and the bullet hit one of the windows, the one closest to her, on her right.

Then, as if God had switched on a gigantic hoover in the sky, everything got sucked into that window as the plane got depressurized.

AAAAA

 **AN- I could have done this whole scene in one line:** _ **"the guys took over the plane, landed in LA, and bugger off to live happily ever after, or at least until Stockwell found them".**_ **But, no, I had to get into showing you everything they did to achieve that, in full detail. So, it will take a bit longer, with more chapters than I thought I needed to finish this off.**

 **I hope you enjoy it, and the extra effort is worth it. Sorry for the cliffie, but again, this is a 4000-word chapter. I had to cut somewhere, and what can beat the tension of the over-used, depressurized cabin scene with a mini hurricane of stuff flying off the plane? Nothing.**


	25. Chapter 25

**Chapter 25**

Murdock and Harlow were about to get out to help when they heard the gunshot. Immediately, the alarms went off at the cockpit, and the autopilot disengaged automatically. The plane gave a sudden, hard jerk to the left that toppled the pilots off their feet, and Harlow banged his head badly on the side, falling to the floor by the unconscious soldier, stunned. With no time to help him, Murdock crawled back to the pilot's seat, got the oxygen mask on, fastened the harness, and got the plane down to a safe level with a vertiginous nose-dive, hoping he wouldn't encounter any other aircraft at a lower level on that Pacific air track, as he didn't have time to use the radio and wait for instructions on descending safely from an ATC.

He didn't know what was happening at the cabin, who shot the gun or if anybody got hurt, but this was their best chance to overcome the soldiers, and he couldn't hang around waiting for instructions while the oxygen levels were so low, endangering everybody.

AAA

Lockhart vomited blood-stained fluid several times, redecorating the toilet basin and the surroundings with red specks. When the nausea subsided a bit, he sat on the toilet seat feeling miserable, panting and shaking, catching his breath while leaning on the back and side panels, wondering if that woman had seen the blood.

 _Yeah, sure she has. Damn it._

He was sick as a dog, and in his cloud of nausea and pain, for a long while his brain didn't wonder or register why Mrs Everson wasn't knocking at the door, asking him what was going on. When he recovered his will to live and wondered why she hadn't bothered, it was too late.

"Freeze!" he heard her crying.

He got up, drew his gun, and opened the door quickly, totally unprepared for the scene he would encounter. He hit her arm with the door, and the blast of the gunshot got him immediately on full alert, like a lightning bolt, releasing a surge of adrenaline into his bloodstream.

A small part of the fuselage got ripped around the broken window, as if it had exploded outward, making the initial defect bigger. All the air in the cabin rushed to that hole at once, creating a mini-hurricane of debris heading in that direction. The plane jerked to the left, and oxygen masks deployed automatically, but all the people on board not wearing seatbelts ignored them as they screamed in fear, with their hands too busy holding onto something to avoid getting dragged towards that suction hole.

Mrs Everson, the lightest person on board and the closest one to the window, would have got sucked out of the plane if Major Lockhart hadn't acted with a reflex when they got thrown to the side. Without thinking, he let go of his gun to grab one of her arms while he held onto the toilet's door frame with his other hand. For a short while she was flying horizontally, close to that defect on the wall, suspended in the air with her feet flapping about, losing her shoes, crying out with a horrified expression while holding onto Lockhart's arm as her life-line.

Lockhart held onto her as best he could while the plane plummeted down, ripped by the intense, searing pain he felt in his arm and deep inside his abdomen, while lots of small objects flew around him, on their way to the window, hitting him and Mrs Everson mercilessly. He yelled when the toilet door shut closed, cruelly crushing his fingers, but he still didn't let go of her.

After only a few seconds that felt like an eternity, when the pressure inside and outside got balanced, the violent vortex died as fast as it had started, and Mrs Everson fell on top of him as the plane carried on diving. Lockhart let go of the door frame and they both crashed against the cockpit door. Soon after that, the plane got levelled, just when he was feeling lightheaded with the lack of oxygen, and dizzy by the plane's crazy manoeuvre. He pushed Mrs Everson off him, away from the cockpit door, and got up as quickly as he could to evaluate the situation, a bit unsteady on his feet, shaking his aching right hand as if that would help with the pain he felt on his smashed fingers, that could be broken, very likely. Two of his soldiers lied on the floor, unconscious, and the third removed his oxygen mask, holding a gun on his other hand. He looked in control.

Lockhart took one of the hanging masks and inhaled deeply the precious oxygen a couple of times, clearing his head a bit.

"Are you all right?" he asked Mrs Everson then, helping her up, sharing the mask with her. She was so frightened and shaken she could hardly stand up on her trembling, naked feet, so he held her in his arms for a moment while she took a few deep breaths from the mask.

"Yes, I think so," she said with a tiny voice when she let go of the mask, steading herself on him. Then, she lifted her hazel-grey eyes to his. "Major, you saved my life! Thank you. How could I repay you?"

He was greatly surprised by her fair praise and gratitude, because everything that had come out of that mouth before, was kind of irksome.

"Well, you owe me a gun, for starters," he said with a hint of a smile.

He looked around searching for one, but he couldn't see any, other than the pistol his soldier brandished in his hand. Both their weapons, his and hers, probably flew out of the window.

At that point, it looked like that soldier had the situation under control, but then, suddenly, Conley and Tia got up and attacked him at once from different directions.

"Look out!" Lockhart cried, but it was too late: they had already reached the soldier, trying to disarm him.

Then, while the three of them struggled to get hold of the gun, it went off.

As before, the loud bang startled everybody. Mrs Everson gasped and fell forward, onto Lockhart's arms again, who just felt a weak jolt on his chest. The realization was shocking for him: that woman had got shot in the back, and that way, she had repaid her debt in full, because otherwise that bullet would have hit him over his heart. In fact, it had, but with so little force and momentum left after going through her body first, it didn't get to pierce his skin, only poking his chest. She had acted as a very effective, bulletproof vest.

"Shit! I'm so sorry, Mrs Everson. I'll come back to you! Hold on!"

He let her on the floor gently, on her back, and lurched forward to help his soldier, his last chance to regain control of the plane. Ignoring the pain in his fingers, he grabbed Conley, pulling from his upper arms, away from the soldier and the gun, and then punched his face with the left hand, hitting his only eye. Conley fell between the seats on the right side of the plane, in an awkward position, dazed, and didn't get up.

In the meantime, Tia hit the soldier's hand, sending the gun flying to the back of the plane, where it landed close to Hannibal, but out of reach from his seat.

Lockhart and Hannibal looked at the gun and then at each other for a split second. Then, Hannibal got up on his good leg, hopping on it. The major avoided Tia by jumping over a couple of seats while she fought with the soldier. B.A sat there, on the floor, between two rows of seats, catatonic after the terrifying experience of the vortex and the nose-dive, and Lockhart used his broad shoulder as a stepping stone to reach the aisle behind Tia.

As Hannibal reached for the gun, in precarious balance over his good leg, Lockhart ran across the aisle to stop him. He could have just tackled him down with his shoulder, but his tactical, military-trained brain made an unconscious decision to target his weakest spot, and he jumped with his right leg extended forward, viciously kicking Hannibal's broken femur like the bully bastard in the Karate competition did on the film. Hannibal truly felt like the Karate Kid then, howling and writhing in pain on the floor, cursing his attacker, fearing the bone had snapped again at the site of the repair.

"Sonofabitch! Aaargh!"

The gun flew from his hand and landed in the middle of the aisle, out of reach from him and the major, who had fallen to the floor between the gurneys at the back of the plane after hitting Hannibal, close to Lawan. Face stood up to get the gun then, as fast as he could move, which wasn't fast enough.

Lockhart got up quickly, still charged with the adrenaline rush, surprised of feeling sorry for the fallen man that was crying in agony, and mildly guilty for what he had done. He saw Face reaching for the gun and lunged forward, but Lawan shot out her foot to trip him. He stumbled then, stamping his foot hard on Hannibal's chest, who yelled in pain again when he smashed his broken ribs. The major carried on stumbling forward with his impulse, and again, when he reached Face, just as he stood up with the gun in his right hand, his cruel but practical, tactical instincts, targeted his enemy's weak spot: the abdomen. Lockhart sank his fist on Face's solar plexus and his fractured sternum.

Face gasped in pain, dropping the gun. He fell on his knees to the floor, and then slid on his side and back in slow motion. As it happened before, after that blow he could no longer breathe, panicking as he gasped for air, looking at Lockhart with a mix of hatred and a desperate need of help.

In a similar way as he had done with Hannibal, Lockhart felt bad about the way Face struggled to breathe then, with all that pain, fear and panic filling up his eyes.

 _What's wrong with me? Why do I feel sorry for these irritating bastards?_ he thought when he retrieved the gun, surprised by his conflicting feelings. After all, these men had brought it on themselves. But targeting his injuries to overcome them easily felt like foul play somehow, and he wasn't proud of himself.

In the meantime, Tia had managed to knock the soldier out with her Kung Fu kicks and punches, and then she attacked Lockhart when he stood up with the gun, side-kicking his upper abdomen so hard he flew back a short distance, landing on his side close to Hannibal, in the small space between him and Face.

Lockhart felt a sudden, unbearable pain deep inside, and turning pale as a sheet, he vomited a pool of fresh blood. Then, he collapsed on it, in shock. It looked like that woman had also targeted his weakest spot.

"That's Karma for you, motherfucker," Hannibal said while panting in pain, looking directly at his eyes from a short distance. "How does it feel?"

 _Fuck. Karma is a bitch_ , was Lockhart's last thought before he fell unconscious.

AAA

After levelling the plane at 8000ft, Murdock re-engaged the autopilot and helped Harlow to his seat, where he dropped as a dead weight, still stunned and confused. He put the oxygen mask on his co-pilot's face, and then he got out of the cockpit, alarmed by the gunshots and all the screams. He wasn't prepared for the macabre scene he found out there: Mrs Everson lied at the front of the plane, close to the cockpit door, with a gunshot wound through her chest; Hannibal, Face, Conley, B.A and all the soldiers were down; and then he saw Tia delivering a mighty kick on Lockhart's middle section, and how he puked all that blood, collapsing on that red puddle. Then, Tia got hold of the gun and stood in the middle of the aisle, the lone standing victor of that awkward mid-air battle.

"Mrs Everson, are you alright?" Murdock said, crouching by her.

"That's a silly question… even for you," she said slowly, with great effort.

He took her hand, trying to soothe her, and applied pressure to the wound, which looked extremely serious, with an ascending trajectory from her back to the exit wound close to her neck.

"Doctor, over here!" he cried, but the doctor was overwhelmed with the amount of badly injured victims lying all over the plane. It would take him a while to get there, tending first for the fallen bodies closer to the back of the plane, where he was.

"Tia, get my cuffs off," Quang said, willing to help the disaster zone.

"I lost the key! We need another one," she said.

"Look in the major's pockets! He should have a set!" Murdock said, frantic to get help with that injured woman, any help. "Hold on, Mrs Everson, hold on, please. You're gonna be all right."

"No, I'm not… but don't worry, dear… I'm dying… anyway," she said, gasping for air. "This would only make… the transit faster."

"What? I don't understand."

"To the other side. I'm ready."

Murdock still didn't understand her, so she carried on, a little bit more specific, while her voice trailed off with the effort.

"I have terminal cancer. Pancreas. They gave me… three months to live. I don't mind dying… I'm ready for it… but I'm happy I could help… the A-team to escape. A little satisfaction… for all the times you had helped somebody… like my friend."

"No, you are not dying. I'm taking you all to a hospital," he said, with tears in his eyes.

"It doesn't matter… really…Let me go…" she said, passing out.

Murdock cursed to himself. If she had terminal cancer, that would explain how reckless and bold she had been, how thin she looked, and why she had a large supply of codeine capsules to drug the pilots with.

He left that floppy hand resting on her abdomen, and as the doctor and Lawan were tending for the injured men and on their way, he returned to the cockpit, because he still had to call the Oakland centre ATC to inform of their new altitude and position, with their little jet still in danger of a collision with other aircraft in the area.

Harlow had recovered fast with the help of the oxygen, but he still had left the plane on autopilot.

"Are you alright?" Murdock said.

"Yes, I was coming to help you. What's going on? Did we win? What's all that blood?"

Murdock's left hand was dripping with Mrs Everson's, from his useless attempt to stop the haemorrhage.

"Yes, we won, but it's like a battlefield out there. The plane is full of casualties. Please, go out there while I call the ATC, and help Tia find another key for the handcuffs. And please, make sure you use them on the soldiers before they wake up. Take this one out with the others, but be careful with Mrs Everson. She's badly injured, lying on the floor, by the door. This blood is hers. She's dying."

"Shit. I'm so sorry to hear that."

Harlow grabbed the soldier still in the cockpit and dragged him out, into the cabin, walking around Mrs Everson, wondering what exactly had happened there. She was still alive, but she didn't look good at all, as Murdock said, with a large puddle of blood forming around her.

AAA

Doctor Wu first checked the pilots, who had hold on nicely, strapped to the gurneys, that were secured to the structure of the plane, with an oxygen mask already on their face. They looked stable, so he quickly moved on to the next fallen man, Hannibal.

"I don't know if my leg got broken again or not, but help them first," he said, pointing at the others. "Don't worry about me, I won't die because of this." _Although it hurts like hell_ , he thought, with a hand covering his eyes, still grimacing with the pain.

Lawan was already giving mouth to mouth to Face, so the doctor had a look at Lockhart, cursing the loss of most of his medical stuff, that flew out of the plane with that decompression vortex. At least, he had managed to grab his stethoscope in mid-air, as it flew off his neck, were he had it hanging.

"Do you think his stomach burst with that kick?" Hannibal said. He loathed the bastard for kicking his leg and stamping on his ribs, but he felt sorry for him at the same time. Maybe he was bonkers, like Face said, because he also understood why the major had targeted his leg: a good soldier always takes advantage of the enemy's weaknesses, and to him, they were the enemy. But, targeting his injuries like that was cruel. And unnecessary. However, the jerk got what he deserved: _live by the sword, die by the sword._

"I don't know. It could be. He looks in traumatic shock, and he has vomited all that blood. But, if he really has a gastric perforation, he will need emergency surgery as soon as possible to survive, which he won't have here."

He left the major as he was for a moment, had a quick look at Face, who was breathing again already, and then walked up the aisle to check on Mrs Everson, who didn't look good at all, with a very faint pulse. She was dying, bleeding out so quickly there was nothing he could do for her under the circumstances.

AAA

 _No! Not there! Shit,_ Face thought as the major hit him hard in his upper abdomen. He fell to the floor, with the wind knocked out of him again.

One more time, he gaped like a fish out of water, panicking, never getting used to that sensation. He had already panicked when the window burst, but at least he was wearing a seatbelt and he had made use of the oxygen mask, also helping Hannibal with his. But now, it didn't matter if he had a mask on his face or not, because he couldn't suck any air in, as his suction pump didn't work anymore.

 _Fucking bastard! You deserve what you got!_ he thought, delighted when he saw Lockhart vomiting blood after Tia kicked him, collapsing in his own puddle. And Hannibal had felt sorry for that motherfucker before!

Christine had been screaming almost non-stop since the moment Margaret had cried _"Freeze!"_ , behaving like a frightened teenage girl watching a horror movie. She was by his side nearly as soon as he hit the floor, but she wasn't of much help, only fussing all over him, crying without doing anything useful.

 _Mouth-to-mouth, come on!_ he begged mentally as he gaped. _Make me breathe again!_

But she didn't. Instead, Lawan pushed her to a side when she kneeled by him, and to his dismay, her lips were the ones contacting his mouth, not Christine's.

Well, at least she was a professional, she knew what she was doing, and she didn't blow smoke into his pipes as Hannibal did after the helicopter crash. And, she didn't use her tongue, like some of the younger, cheeky nurses would have, to make the most of such occasion. It could have been worse!

"Thanks, Lawan," he said when his diaphragm re-booted and he started breathing again.

"You're welcome," she said, placing an oxygen mask on his face. "Shut up and breathe!"

That rudeness made him laugh under the mask, despite the pain he was in. Why couldn't she show her tender, human side, ever?

AAAAA

 **A.N – nearly back at LA now. One more chapter only (unless I have another stupid plot idea to make this longer which I hope it won't happen!)**

 **Now, shameless auto-plug: for anybody interested in smut and comedy combined, I posted an MA rated comedy-porn story. Not many people are reading, and I think this is because most people don't change the settings to see all the stories, and only see the T ones. So, if you are interested in a good laugh while reading a quite raunchy story Amy-centred written in first person, please have a look. "Amy's Four-in-One".**

 **And if you do, review, please. Or send me a PM if you are too embarrassed. But say something so I know what people think of this kind of stuff.**

 **Thanks.**


	26. Chapter 26

_**A.N – How many times I said the "next chapter will be the last one?" I lost count now, sorry.**_

 _ **Well, I got happily writing that very last chapter, finishing their long journey back to LA, tying up all those loose ends, as I like to do at the end of stories, and all of a sudden, I had more than 6000 words done, and still no end. Aaargh… I should have gone with the abridged version four chapters ago, because the unresolved issues of the OCs are taking over the story. But, once that something is written, I am quite reluctant to scrap it only for "economy of words". So, there you have it: another extra-long chapter, over 4600 words. I hope you like it.**_

 _ **And yes, again: the next chapter should be the last one! I'm not going to describe how happy they are now, basking in the sunshine and fishing huge specimens out of that lake, am I? So, how long can I keep dragging this for now? Well, maybe I'll surprise myself and find something else to say, so the story jumps over the dreaded 100k mark that would put any future readers off. Damn.**_

 _ **Rant over. Enjoy the new "nearly final" chapter.**_

 **Chapter 26**

When the soldiers regained consciousness, they found the hard way that the tables had turned. They found themselves sitting with the handcuffs on, secured to their seats, guarded by that kicking fury called Tia.

B.A was still catatonic, but at least he was back on his seat, not chained like a slave anymore. Conley sat by him, recovered from his mild concussion, the same as Harlow, who was now back at the cockpit with Murdock.

The two official pilots were stable and breathing fine so far, not deteriorating much in their condition, so they had moved them to the recliner seats to place Hannibal and Lockhart on the gurneys. While the doctor tended for the major, Quang had a good look at Hannibal's leg. He assured him the bone hadn't snapped and that the plate on his femur was holding on OK, but he felt more comfortable lying flat on the gurney rather than on the recliner, which put more pressure on his thigh. Murdock told him they would be in L.A and back in the van enjoying freedom in a little more than two hours. He could not wait.

Face didn't mind too much leaving his recliner to sit down with Christine, who was very keen on keeping him comfortable and entertained for the rest of the journey, giving him some extra TLC while keeping a close eye —and mouth— on his breathing.

Tia, the winner Kung Fu warrior, still held the gun, keeping a close eye on the soldiers, sitting opposite to them on the right side of the plane, the same as Quang.

Everybody was shocked about Mrs Everson's fate, specially Hannibal. Everything had happened so quickly he could not believe it. One minute she was kissing his cheek, giving him the key to the handcuffs, the next minute she nearly got sucked into a mini black hole, and shortly after that, she was lying on a pool of blood, dead. Nobody could do anything for her, and now she was covered by a blanket, resting on the first seat on the right, the one Major Lockhart occupied before.

Murdock told Hannibal about her illness, and how sick and keen on dying she was, but that didn't make him feel any better. She should not have died like that, getting involved to help them with that bold plan of her own, the one that had worked so well to set them free. So well… except for her. And Lockhart. But, if it wasn't for the major, she would have been sucked into that vortex, to a terrifying and even more horrible death than getting shot.

Lockhart, by his side, wasn't doing very well. Doctor Wu couldn't do much for him either, other than setting up an IV line to give him some fluids. Most of the medical supplies had either flown away with the vortex or they had got damaged, like some vials of injectable medications, now broken, including the painkillers. The doctor said that Major Lockhart would be lucky if he could reach Los Angeles alive and without too much chemical damage on his abdominal organs, that right now would be getting in contact with the acidic contents of his stomach, with an extremely painful kind of peritonitis, burning him from the inside. He also said that after a gastric perforation, even with prompt emergency surgery, his chances of survival would be around 50%. And the doctor couldn't even give him morphine now for the pain. It was a shame Lockhart had declined that shot before the vial shattered, because he wanted to stay alert to watch his prisoners, but at least he had some antibiotics on board then.

From the adjacent gurney, Hannibal looked at the major, trying to figure him out, but he couldn't. He hated Lockhart for what he had done to Face, who could have died with that unnecessary blow, and because he had targeted his broken leg so viciously, but that mean behaviour didn't match the way he had saved Mrs Everson, kind of heroically. How and why such a cruel, uncaring bastard had done that, dropping his gun voluntarily to catch her as she flew by him, was a mystery to Hannibal. He looked at his broken fingers, also wondering how he had managed to keep holding her when the toilet door crushed them, not giving up to free his hand from the door by letting go of her arm first. Then he looked at his pale, sweaty face. Lockhart was burning up already, agitated in a restless sleep, moaning. The doctor had removed his blood-soaked, navy-blue military jacket, and now he only had his light blue shirt on, drenched in sweat. Every time the doctor had palpated his abdomen it felt rock solid, and his patient had cried and tensed as a reply, but not waking up.

"I can try my _magic hands_ , as you call them, on him," Quang said, startling Hannibal when he stopped by his side in the aisle, as if materializing out of thin air. "But only briefly, because I can't use all my healing energy on him. I don't think he's going to make it unless he gets to a hospital fast, no matter what I do."

"Murdock is flying this bird as fast as he can go," Hannibal said.

"Probably not fast enough."

"OK, do your thing, please. Thank you. Shame you couldn't do anything for Margaret."

"No. She was too far gone, and she was sick already. I knew that, from the first time I saw her, because she had a grey, sick aura. Sorry, I don't do miracles, I'm afraid. But he, with surgery, he may still do. Maybe. This should only help to get him there. It won't sort him out."

Quang opened the major's blue shirt and spend the next fifteen minutes using his healing hands on him, in direct contact with his warm, sweaty skin, while the sick man carried on moaning and whimpering in pain. A little while after he left him, Lockhart stirred in the gurney and opened his eyes.

"Hello there. Still with us?" Hannibal said.

Lockhart tried to lift his left hand, but it was cuffed to the gurney.

"Oh, yes. I thought you would like to feel what is like to be badly injured but restrained to the bed all the same. Karma, you know?"

The real reason for the handcuff was to keep his hand still, because he was moving it too much sometimes, agitated, and he was pulling from the IV line. But he didn't need to know that, Hannibal thought, enjoying the little, harmless, psychological pay-back.

Lockhart growled softly when he heard that word, _Karma_ , and he stood still then, not keen on moving anymore now that he was fully conscious of the unbearable pain in his abdomen. He showed an ugly grimace on his face, but he held back on the whimpering because he didn't want Hannibal hearing him complaining.

"However, I don't like holding grudges, so I'll make the doctor take your cuffs off. I doubt you are going anywhere, are you?"

Lockhart felt his abdomen burning, inside, as if someone was welding his guts with a blowtorch. The pain was so bad he thought he was dying right then, for sure. Which reminded him of something.

"Mrs Everson?" he said in a very low, shaky voice, looking at Hannibal with little hope in his eyes.

"She didn't make it," Hannibal said from his gurney across the aisle, serious, and sad, very sad. Even more when he saw that glint in Lockhart's eyes. Who would had thought that bastard had feelings?

"She… saved me."

"Yes, but you saved her first. The way you reacted, holding onto her, impressed me. A lot. And I don't get impressed easily."

"How's… your leg?" Lockhart said, panting now, really struggling not to scream in pain.

"Holding on, not thanks to you."

"I'm… sorry," Lockhart said with a real apology flashing in his eyes, one that Hannibal missed. He would have liked to explain that colonel a bit better he didn't really know why he had saved that woman or why he had kicked his leg, acting on instinct, but he couldn't.

"Really? Well, thanks. A bit late, but it's nice to hear that."

"I'm… dying."

"Oh, I see. OK, these are your last-minute apologies to repair your wrongdoings then… Should we call the priest? Or the captain, as we don't have one available?"

Doctor Wu approached them to check on the major, taking his vitals. His heart rate and temperature were sky high, with a weak pulse. When he tried to examine his abdomen, Lockhart complained already while he carefully unbuttoned his shirt, anxious, before he even touched him. He yelled mad the moment the doctor lay a finger on his skin, hardly pressing at all, and he passed out again, with all colour drained from of his already pale face.

"Shit. I don't think this man has two hours left! Not even one."

"Can you tell Murdock, see if he can hurry up a bit more?" Hannibal said, regretting his sharp attitude towards the sick man. After all, he was apologizing for his behaviour.

"OK," the doctor said, heading for the cockpit.

AAA

"I don't care! I'll get this bird to 500 knots now, so you better clear a pathway for us because I'm heading straight to Shafter Airfield, you like it or not!" Murdock shouted. Once again, he was arguing with the ATC in charge of their flight.

"You can't do that!" said the angry voice over the radio.

"Watch me," Murdock said, pushing the throttle.

"Keep your current speed, you nutso! That's an order!" the ATC cried, losing it, not used to that kind of defiance from a pilot. Pilots were supposed to follow his instructions, not giving him grief, ignoring his commands like this one. His job was too stressful already, he didn't need that extra shit.

"Too late!" Murdock said, laughing like a naughty kid.

"You have no clearance!"

"I don't need any."

"There is slower traffic in front of you, crazy wacko! You're flying too low for that speed, can't you see that? You're gonna kill someone!"

"All right, you tell the others to make way for me, then. This is an emergency."

"You said before you had the situation under control after the depressurization. Don't you?"

"I was wrong. Mayday! Mayday!" Murdock said, disconnecting the radio.

He had less than an hour left to reach the small, military airfield they took off from with Fulbright only a few days ago. He had to land at that airfield and no other, because they had left the van parked nearby, and he had the intention of heading its way the moment their wheels contacted the tarmac.

"Keep a close eye on the radar from now on," Murdock said. "We don't really want to crash with anybody, do we?"

"Yeah, that's a good point," Harlow said, looking at Murdock, who never ceased to amaze him.

AAA

Lots of military police vehicles waited for them at the runway of that small airfield, as Murdock expected. Decker's was probably among those. He counted on that, so he followed his plan: at the last moment he jerked the plane to the right to line up with the parallel taxiway, not the runway, and landed on that narrower and shorter stretch of tarmac, heading straight to the end of the enclosure, not having to bother with the barrier of trucks parked at the end and the sides of the runway. It didn't matter to him, because that was still a much easier manoeuvre than landing General Ekworth's plane in the jungle, in the middle of nowhere, as he had done in Vietnam.

The trucks and all the vehicles followed him with their sirens blasting as he headed to the end of the taxiway and continued running on the soft grass, towards the wired fenced perimeter. He hit the fence, destroying it, and carried on running the plane outside the airfield, heading for the buildings and the streets of the nearby town.

"You are really mental, this confirms it!" Harlow said, holding onto the side and front panels as the plane bounced uncontrollably while the wheels rolled over the uneven surface of the fields. "You'll break the undercarriage attachments!"

"No, they'll hold on nicely. Have faith," Murdock said, concentrating on avoiding the largest holes, and ignoring the screams coming from the frightened people at the cabin.

"You always say the same!"

"Have I ever failed you?" Murdock said, laughing crazily. It was obvious to Harlow he was having a ball with all this, and that he was mentally unstable, for real.

They reached the pavement of the streets, where Murdock could go a bit faster, driving in the middle of the road as if the plane was just an oversized car, brushing the end of the wings over the cars parked at the sides.

"It won't fit! You're gonna get us killed!"

"Why are you so negative, man? Look, there's our van!"

He stopped the plane close to that black and red baby, unbuckled the harness, and got out of the cockpit, followed by his puzzled co-pilot.

"Everybody out! Come on, before the bad guys get here!"

He opened the door and activated the mechanism to lower the stairs while the guys got on the move, greatly relieved because the plane had stopped, and they were no longer being thrown to the sides, left and right, bouncing off their seats as if riding a crazy funfair attraction.

"B.A, have you got the keys to the van?" Murdock said. Thankfully, the big guy was no longer catatonic, or they would have struggled to drag him out of the plane.

"Are you nuts? 'Course I have them!" B.A said, tapping his pocket. "Come on, Colonel, I'll carry you."

"Goodbye, Christine. Lawan, thanks for everything," Face said, giving her one set of keys to the handcuffs. Then, he gave them both a quick kiss before he headed for the door with the others.

"Behave!" Lawan said, throwing him a small package when he turned around to reply.

"Always!" Face said, catching the flying object with his good hand, sending her a flashy smile when he saw the contents: his cigars. She was human, after all.

Tia and Quang got out of the plane first. Conley helped B.A to carry Hannibal down and into the van, so he didn't have to walk. Face followed them, slowly, helped by Harlow. Murdock was the last one, but, when he had a last look at the unconscious pilots and the major, who looked so bad, he had second thoughts. The hospital wasn't too far, but he wanted to get the sick men there ASAP.

"Guys, meet me at the General Hospital. I'll take them there, because it will be faster than waiting for the ambulances."

"Get off that plane right now, you fool!" B.A said, but Murdock ignored him and pulled up the stairs again.

"Follow me, big guy," he said before the door closed completely.

"You are crazy!"

"I know!"

While everybody got into the van, cramped on those seats, Murdock got the plane rolling again, heading for the hospital.

"Hit it, B.A. They're coming," Hannibal said from his front seat, when he saw the MP vehicles approaching, with sirens blasting on full volume.

"Damn fool! Why does he always do these crazy stunts?" B.A said, shaking his head, starting the engine to follow the plane.

AAA

Murdock carried on driving the plane on the road as if it was a car, hitting the cars parked at the side with the wings, skidding along like a pinball, veering from side to side. The incoming vehicles blasted their horns and got off the way, some crashing with the parked cars.

"Hold on people! Sharp turn to the left!" he said when he made a close turn to get on the main road at speed. The slim plane nearly flipped over, turning on one set of wheels only, in precarious balance, dragging the right wing along the bend, scraping the tip off with a harsh, grating noise, with sparks flying off the metal. Incoming drivers horned mad while getting out of his way, cursing him. Meanwhile, the van caught up with them, followed in the distance by all the military vehicles on pursuit.

After a few more mental manoeuvres of that plane on the road, they reached the hospital. Murdock failed to break in time, and the wheels jumped over the steps at the side of the ambulance's ramp, and the front end of the plane smashed though the glass of the A&E department before it stopped.

"That's it, everybody!" Murdock said after killing the engine. "Thanks, Lawan. I'll miss you. Goodbye, gorgeous!" he said, kissing her cheeks enthusiastically. "Thanks, doctor, for all your help. Bye, Christine. Don't cry, Face will write soon. And for you guys, better luck next time!" he said to the soldiers. Then he opened the door to lower the stairs again, jumping out of the plane before that ramp touched the ground, running the short distance to the van, that was waiting for him with the side door open.

Lawan gave the keys to the doctor, and while he took off the handcuffs, she got to the door in time to see the black van disappearing in the distance, right before the military vehicles stopped by the plane.

 _Wow. They done it! They escaped! Good for them!_

She got down the stairs and talked to the gobsmacked personnel of that hospital, that were approaching the plane-ambulance parked at their door, with their mouth open.

"We have two men with a codeine overdose, one in shock with a gastric perforation from a bleeding ulcer, in need of surgery, and four more with different degrees of concussions and head trauma. And sadly, a dead woman as well," she said, happy to be passing the torch and the responsibility to someone else, because she was exhausted now. She needed a vacation.

AAA

"Guys, I love it when a plan comes together," Hannibal said as they speeded up, away from the military police and Decker, one more time.

"You'll love it even more now. Here, compliments from Lawan," Face said, passing him a cigar.

"Did she carry them on the plane?" Hannibal said, looking back. Face nodded, grinning.

"And we thought she wouldn't!"

"Nice, Face. Thanks." Hannibal said, biting and spitting the end out of the window.

"Where are we going?" B.A said while the colonel lit the cigar.

"The cabin in the woods. We can rest there until we are better, and Quang can be our personal doctor. Are you happy with that, people? Vacation by the lake?" Hannibal said, turning to look at the back again.

The POWs, Quang and Tia looked at each other and shrugged their shoulders.

"Sounds good to me," Quang said.

"Excellent," Hannibal said looking back at the front, puffing from the cigar with a wide grin on his face.

AAA

Harlow and Conley stayed at the cabin for a week, acting as their link to civilization, with trips to the nearest town to get food and medical supplies, but after a while, they got restless.

Conley called the phone number Mrs Everson gave Harlow and got in contact with his wife, who agreed to meet him with the excuse of sharing information about her husband. Harlow didn't want her to know yet he was alive, in case she freaked out on the phone. Conley found out the address of the hospice his father was in, with little hope he would recognize him, but still, he wanted to see him.

"All right guys, we are going on a little tour to check on our families while you recover. We'll be back soon," Harlow said that afternoon.

"We are not going anywhere for a while," Hannibal said. "Come back here when you are done, or at least call the van's phone, and let us know how it went. Best of luck."

"Thanks, Hannibal."

"Wait, how are you planning to get there?"

"I don't know."

"You'll need some funds, and a set of wheels. Face, where's the Corvette?" Hannibal said, turning to look at him.

"The Vette? No, they don't need the Vette," Face said, shaking his head. Not his precious baby!

"Face…" Hannibal said slowly, with his C.O tone.

"All right, OK. If you must know, I left it at Joe's, at the garage. He's having a look at that little problem I had with the transmission, you know?" he said, with the usual over-gesticulation of his hands he used when giving vague excuses on anything.

"That should be fixed by now. Call Joe and tell him our friends will pick it up today."

"Do I have to? Really?"

"Yes, you do. They can bring the car here back to you when they finish, OK?"

"All right, all right," Face said, giving up. Then he pointed at the POWs with his index finger, using a menacing tone. "But I want it back without a scratch!"

"Don't worry, I'll keep my eye on it," said Conley, pointing at his eyepatch.

"Yeah, yeah. Very funny. Shut up!" Face said, walking out to the van slowly to get on the phone while the others laughed, guarding his ribs with his right hand.

AAA

Harlow's wife sat at a bench in a public square, surrounded by people. She was surprised when that flashy white and red sports car parked nearby, as it looked so out of place there. A tall, thin man with an eyepatch got down, talked for a moment with the driver, and headed her way.

"Mrs Harlow?"

"Yes, hello," she said, standing up. "But it is Mrs Donovan now."

"Nice to meet you. I'm Major James Conley," he said, offering her his hand. She took it, a bit hesitant. That man had bruises on his face, didn't wear a uniform, and looked quite ragged. And that car didn't fit him, probably stolen. Maybe meeting a stranger that looked like a run-down pirate wasn't such a good idea, even in a public place like that.

"Nice to meet you, Major. So, you have some information about my deceased husband," she said, straight to the point, to cut the odd meeting as short as possible.

"Well, yes. Aaah… yes, but not exactly."

"That's what you said on the phone."

"Yes, but you see, what you said is not correct."

"What? I don't understand. Is this a bad joke?"

"Well, you said _my deceased_ husband. And that is not correct."

"What? What are you trying to say? That he is…? No, he can't be! They told me he died in Vietnam a long time ago!"

"Whoever said that, they got the wrong information, I'm afraid. I've been in a POW camp with your husband until a few weeks ago, when we got rescued in a secret operation. The US Government doesn't want the general public knowing that a few soldiers were still held prisoners in 1986, thirteen years after the end of the Vietnam war. Jack knows that you have got on with your life and that you have a new family now. He doesn't want to hurt you, but he stills wants to see you, and talk to you, but only if you want to see him. That's why he sent me."

She looked at him, speechless for a while, shocked. She didn't want to believe him, but she had the strong feeling that the strange man was saying the truth. Then, she covered her mouth with her hand and started crying while shaking her head, in denial.

"No. It can't be… It can't be true. No. No."

"I'm so sorry," Conley said, holding her upper arms, gently, but firmly. "I know this is such a shock for you. That's why we didn't want to tell you on the phone."

"Where is he?" she said, letting him support her arms as she sobbed with her head down, feeling weak. "I want to see him."

"In the car."

She lifted her head then, quickly, looking at the Corvette, trying to spot him. Then, the driver stepped out of the car. She gasped, recognizing that gaunt, and now so thin, figure. It was _him_! How could it be? How could he be alive after all that time?

"Jack!" she cried, running to the car. "Jack! Is that really you?"

When she got by his side, he embraced her tightly, speechless, and they both cried in each other's arms for a while.

"Karen, you'll never know how much I have missed you," he said when he recovered the ability to speak, pushing her gently away from him to look at her through his tears. "I thought I'd never see you again. You look great, babe. Gorgeous. So beautiful," he said, stroking her long hair lovingly. "Even more beautiful than I remembered you."

"I didn't want to believe you were dead!" she said, holding his bony hands in her shaky ones. "But they made me! I had therapy for many years, you know, because I refused to give up on you, especially for the first five years after the war ended. They thought I had lost my mind when I insisted you were alive. But, fourteen years is a long time… Patrick came along, when I was lonely, in a very bad place, and he got me out of the abyss. We have two kids, and I love him. I thought I had put my life back in track after losing you," she said, crying her heart out. He looked down, at her hands, unable to hold her stressed gaze, shaking with the emotion. She let go of his hands to grab his head then, to make him look at her eyes. He looked so old for his age, so sad and tired, with bruises and marks on his ragged face like the other man, a worn-out shadow of his former self. And that made her feel even worse, after he had called her _gorgeous_. She couldn't say the same, because he looked awful. "I'm so sorry, Jack, you have to believe me when I say I didn't want to give up on you. And you have to forgive me because I did."

He nodded then, with a tight knot in his throat that didn't allow him to speak, again, and he embraced his ex-wife one more time, crying in her arms as before.

"I'm so happy you are alive! But I'm sorry, so sorry, because I can't be with you now," she said, leaning on him. "I'm sorry."

"Don't worry, it's not your fault," he said with a shaky voice. "You did what you had to do. I don't blame you, for anything. I understand."

She cried even more with his kind words, sobbing unconsolably in his arms. Those arms that now were so thin. So thin! Arms that were attached to that emaciated torso, to that now so prominent rib cage she could feel so well against her cheek. He looked so haggard, and sick, and so different… She didn't want to imagine the suffering he had to endure during all those long years, only to receive the last blow at her hands.

They walked to the bench where she was sitting before, and they talked for hours while Conley waited patiently in the car. It was nearly dark when he walked her to her car, and then came back to the Corvette, with a smile on his face, looking at the picture he held in his hand. They had agreed to another meeting soon, and this time, he would see his teenage daughter. She looked so beautiful and happy in that picture, he could not wait to meet her.

AAAAA


	27. Chapter 27

**Chapter 27**

Lockhart looked through squinted, sleepy eyes at that demanding general that had come to see him at the hospital as soon as he had left the ICU.

The major had been there for more than a week before the doctors decided he wasn't going to die, or at least, it was less likely now. It had been a hellish experience of pain, still ongoing, despite the heavy sedation and the stupid amounts of painkillers he'd been given, with whopping doses that hardly kept him semi-comfortable, but that had probably turned him into a drug addict already. He feared a withdrawal crisis to deal with when the doctors cut the supply later on, but at the moment, he couldn't live without the painkilling drugs.

He had abdominal surgery in three different occasions, with the large scar that ran from his sternum to his pubis as a permanent reminder of the events, for ever. As the surgeons had to re-open that wound twice, he wondered if it would be worth it having a zipper sewed in instead, to allow continuous, easy access to his guts, rather than closing the gap with stitches and surgical staples every time. Bits and pieces had got removed from his damaged entrails, cut off during surgery, and he had endured several abdominal lavages and other gruesome procedures, some of them performed while conscious. He still had tubes and drains sticking out of various holes in his belly, and he was fed through one of them directly into his guts because he had not been allowed to eat anything yet, adding to his misery, as he felt constantly hungry. On top of everything, the insidious peritonitis would take ages to resolve, if it was ever going to. For all those reasons, and a few more, he couldn't deal with stupid questions like that one right now.

"I don't know."

"Are you sure?" the general said.

"Yes. You do realize I wasn't very aware of what was going on in that plane during the last few hours of that flight, don't you? I was busy dying. Actually, I can't remember much of the whole damn thing since we left Bangkok, sorry. I suffer from traumatic amnesia. Or that's what the doctors say."

The ICU nurses had told him how that crazy pilot had flown the plane at top speed ignoring the commands of the air traffic controllers, and how he drove it on the streets like a car to reach the hospital as soon as possible with all the military police chasing him, destroying the A&E entrance when he arrived. The doctors had told him if he had arrived at the hospital only half an hour later than he did, he would surely be dead. So now, he felt strangely reluctant to talk about the A-Team or anything related to them to the military authorities, because maybe, after all, just _maybe_ , they were not the bad guys, as they always claimed. He would be transferred to a military hospital soon, where he would be questioned and grilled about them and the circumstances of their escape, without a doubt, but at the moment, he didn't feel like touching the subject at all.

"All right. In that case, I won't bother you anymore, Major. But, if you remember anything when your mind clears a bit, please, let me know."

"I will, don't worry. I've got your number." _Fuck off_ , he thought as he smiled at that slimy man who dared to look at him with such contempt, not trying to hide it at all.

Stockwell left the hospital with his slow but purposeful stride, back to his limo. It didn't matter. He didn't need the help of that wasted, ghastly looking, half-dead man to find the A-Team. He had his ways, and they always paid off. He would find them, soon. No problem.

At the limo he got a phone call that put a twisted smile on his face. One of the agents assigned to keep Captain Harlow's wife under surveillance told him the POWs had contacted her, and now they were following them as they drove along the country in the A-Team's Corvette.

The A-Team couldn't use a more conspicuous car or van, could they? Idiots.

He had no idea how the incompetent Military Police had failed to arrest them in the fourteen years they've been on the run. Unbelievable. That Colonel Decker must have been failing on purpose, or he was a complete moron.

AAA

"Quang, we've been thinking," Hannibal said from the sofa where he was resting while Quang worked on his leg to speed up the bone healing process. "What about if we set up a holistic clinic for you? Would you like that?"

"What do you mean? I have no papers, and I never got any formal qualifications in medicine, I told you that before."

"It doesn't matter," Face said, joining the conversation. "I could get fake IDs and forged papers for you and Tia, no problem. As that lovely head nurse told me in Thailand: _where there is a will, there is a way_."

"That would be great, Face," Hannibal said. "You see, Quang, we have several businesses running already, and if we fund a holistic clinic for you, we could get your help every time we get injured in the future. And, with your unusual skills, you'll have plenty of clients, I'm sure of that."

"Specially the Hollywood bunch. They'll love this kind of stuff," Face said, pointing at Quang's hands as he handled the injured leg. "And they have more money than sense. This could be really profitable."

"So, what do you think?" Hannibal said.

"I feel like taking advantage of your kindness, but yes, I think that would be a good idea, especially if I can help you the next time you get hurt."

"Not that we really want to get hurt again, especially not me, in particular," Face said, shaking his head with apprehension, "but yes, that's the idea. Our businesses are like symbiotic relationships with our friends, you know: two-way helping roads, that kind of thing?"

"What about Tia?" Quang said.

"She could be your receptionist, or your nurse, if she wants, until she decides what she wants to do with her life," Face said. "She's at the lake, fishing with Murdock. We'll ask her when she comes back."

"So, do we have a new partner?" Hannibal said, offering his hand.

"Yes, you do," Quang said, taking it.

"Excellent. Nice. This calls for a celebration."

"A cigar?" Face said.

"Of course. What else?" Hannibal said, grinning, taking one from his front pocket.

AAA

Harlow returned with the corvette ten days later. The moment he stepped into the cabin, everybody sensed that something had gone terribly wrong.

"Harlow, welcome back. How was your trip?" Hannibal said, inviting him to sit down with him on the sofa, but he declined the invitation, and stood in the middle of the room, a bit awkwardly.

"OK, it was OK," he said, evasive.

He kept silent after that, and Hannibal didn't say anything else either, while waiting for Conley to appear. But he didn't.

"Where's Conley? Did he stay with his father?"

Harlow shook his head, and then his upper lip started to tremble, right before he covered his face with his hands, trying to stop the incoming tears.

 _Shit,_ Hannibal thought, suspecting the reason.

"Come on man, what's wrong? Come, sit down with us," Murdock said, taking Harlow to the sofa. The POW dropped on the middle seat, between Hannibal and Murdock, who was very touchy-feely, passing an arm over his shoulders, and tapping his knee. "Come on, tell us what happened."

"He killed himself," Harlow said, dropping his head, holding it in his hands again. "I couldn't stop him. After we visited his father, we stopped at a T-junction, and he suddenly got out of the car and jumped in front of a lorry. He was dead before he hit the ground, instantly. I… I was afraid I would get caught, so I didn't stay with him. I pulled his dog tag, that he still wore on his neck, and I left."

Harlow broke down in tears then, and Murdock and Hannibal tried to comfort him while the others watched him with great pity and concern, but nothing they could say or do could give him much consolation.

"His father didn't recognize him. That was the last straw for him. I knew he was very depressed since Lockhart told him the rest of his family had died, and he looked a bit jealous of me because at least mine are alive. While we were at that prison he only talked about going home, that was all he wanted, what kept him going. I should have known something like this could happen! But he didn't say a word. I could have tried talking him out of suicide, but he did it when I less expected it, without warning."

"Come on, man, as you said, you couldn't stop him. Stop torturing yourself," B.A said.

"How could he kill himself now, after all we've been through? I am the only one left now. They are all dead: Scott, Conley, and all the others. All gone."

"And what about you? Did you talk to your wife? Did you get to see your daughter?" Murdock said while looking at Hannibal, sharing his concern.

"Yes. I saw my wife. And I want to be with them, but I can't," he said through his tears.

 _Shit,_ Hannibal thought. As he suspected when Conley didn't show up, he had killed himself. And this man was also high on the list of suicide candidates. They would need to watch him closely over the next few days to prevent any attempts. Damn. The whole story of misery of these men was heart-breaking.

"I know what you must be thinking: that I want to punch my ticket too," Harlow said, lifting his head to look at Hannibal with those drenched, red eyes, as if he could read his mind. "But that's not what I want to do, so don't worry. I want to keep in touch with my daughter, and be there for her. I know she doesn't need me much, as she has a fantastic stepfather, but just in case."

"That's the spirit, Jack, I'm so proud of you," Hannibal said, tapping his arm. Definitely, the resilience of that man was epic.

"My wife… ex-wife, I mean, told me that my daughter has my picture at her bedroom, on the shelf, the last official photo they took of me in uniform before I went to 'Nam. I got her picture. Look, she's so pretty," he said, taking the already tatty looking picture from his pocket, as he had been handling it so much during the last few days. "And clever. She'll go to college soon. She wants to be a lawyer."

Everybody gathered around him to look at the picture, complimenting the young lady. She was certainly pretty, and she looked so happy and bubbly, they hoped she could be a good enough reason to keep that drained man alive.

AAA

B.A, Murdock and Hannibal waited for Face in the van, by the beach. The conman had taken Tia on a shopping spree to Beverly Hills with the corvette, to show her some of the good stuff America had to offer. It was the first time she visited LA, and she was very excited about it.

More than a month had gone by since they returned from Vietnam, and it was the first day they had left the cabin. Face, Hannibal and Murdock had recovered nicely from their injuries with Quang's help, who took care of them in that isolated cabin in the woods, away from hospitals, civilization, and especially, the MPs.

Today, Quang had accompanied Harlow to visit his daughter again, using a rental car, keeping an eye on him, just in case he had any funny ideas about the value of life, but so far, he hadn't given them any concerns. Besides, Harlow's wife had given him half of the money she made when she sold their house, and at least he didn't need to worry about finances at the moment, while he avoided the military police, the same as them, because he was still a liability to the government and in danger of getting locked in a cell for ever, away from the public. He was a ghost with no identity, who could not claim a pension or any kind of help from the US Army, which he had to avoid like the pest, because he was also an accessory to the A-Team's escape.

He could have made a scandal, giving interviews on TV and telling the world the fate of those POWs and his personal, sad story, and Hollywood films would have been made about him, but he preferred to keep quiet, under the radar, and carry on with his life. He didn't want the complications, because it would change nothing for those unfortunate men, and he didn't want to be in the spotlight.

On this visit, he had taken all the soldier's dog tags to give them to Karen, who would take them to the National League of POW/MIA Families, pretending Margaret Everson had sent them to her before she died on that plane, so all the deceased soldiers would be accounted for, and their families informed. Harlow had kept his tag, and also Conley's, as there was no one else to pass it on.

Hannibal had a plan to make a deal with the military, so they would leave Harlow alone, as long as he would not go public with the issue of the POWs, but that would have to wait a bit. He wanted to involve Major Lockhart on that plot, as he had heard he didn't die from his injuries and had become quite partial to their cause, as if having an epiphany on that plane, refusing to cooperate in the hunt of the A-Team now. But the major was still on the long road to recovery, still at the hospital. Now that he was finally using his leg again, Hannibal wanted to pay him a visit, under one of his multiple disguises. He was looking forward to that, because it would be so much fun!

Murdock opened the side door to get some fresh air. Shortly after, Face arrived. He slowly drove past the van and parked by the small pier. The Vette was still moving when Tia stood up with her high heeled boots on the passenger's seat. The moment Face hit the break, she stepped on the side rim and jumped out of the car without bothering to open the door first.

"Well, how's Beverly Hills?" Hannibal mumbled, with the sempiternal cigar back in his mouth.

"Expensive," Face said after stepping out of the car. He walked around it slowly, still resenting the distal portion of his fractured sternum, that was taking a long time to heal completely because of all those extra blows he had received in that area after breaking it in the crash, that had displaced the fragments, and then he approached the expectant group. "That, young lady, it's the door. You see, you open it to get in the car," he said, demonstrating the movement with his hands, annoyed by her carelessness. His left arm had healed alright, and against all odds he had recovered full function of it, without any neurological deficits, but he was still wary of giving it full use, moving it quite gently. Behind him, Murdock leaned over the car door while he talked, snooping around the bags of clothes in the back.

"I'm sorry, Mr Faceman," she said, over-polite, displaying pure innocence on her young face.

"Just call me Face," he said, trying to ignore his own irritation. That cheeky young lady had never called him Mr Anything before. There was no need to take the piss now!

Tia turned to show Hannibal her brand-new yellow blouse, excited.

"He bought me all these new, interesting clothes."

Hannibal took the cigar off his mouth and smiled at her while B.A blinked and nodded approvingly at her choice.

"How did you afford all the stuff?" Murdock said, examining the bunch of receipts he had found in the car, quickly adding up the figures in his head.

"Oh, well, I figured as long as we're still wanted men, you know, why not go for it," Face said casually. "In for a penny, in for a…"

"Two thousand dollars?" Murdock interrupted, shocked by his calculations. Had the conman been conned this time?

"What?" Hannibal snapped, biting his cigar hard, crossing his arms over his chest, looking stern. Face snatched the receipts from his friend's hands and hid them in his pocket, annoyed.

"I will pay you back, Face," Tia said, looking worried. "I'll repay all of you for what you have done for me. You'll see, I won't be just an extra burden to you."

Murdock and Face looked at each other, appalled by her naivety, not knowing what to say.

"Tia, I don't think you understand something. We brought you out of Vietnam because you're…" Hannibal paused for a moment, trying to find the most adequate words to avoid hurting her. "Now you're wanted, you're a criminal. You'll be hunted by the government. And that's our situation here."

"Yeah, you see, it's a very irregular job," Face said, thinking on any vague excuse to put her off. "We never eat on time."

"Yeah, besides, B.A's got a terrible temper," Murdock said, also jumping at the excuses' wagon.

"I do not!" B.A cried.

"You see?"

Tia looked sad, and lost, and she had to explain herself, and her worries.

"What was my home for twenty years no longer is. I don't belong here. I'm without papers or proof of who my father was. If I am caught, what will happen to me?"

The four men looked at each other, uncomfortable. They understood her predicament, but they couldn't babysit her or drag her along as a member of the team.

"Maybe you can stick with us until we figure something out," Hannibal said. They still had to find a place for Quang to set up the clinic, but Tia wasn't very keen on the receptionist role. She was probably thinking on following them around, kicking her way with her Kung Fu skills, which could be quite useful to them, to be honest, but they didn't want to endanger her like that. She would be safer with Quang.

Tia smiled at him gratefully, and carried on talking, enthusiastically.

"Can we celebrate? Can we go to those nightclubs Face told me about?"

"Nightclubs?" B.A said, looking disgusted.

"Yes, well, I was, you know, explaining to her certain aspects of American life…" Face said while they all looked at him disapprovingly. "For when she is older! Never mind… Can we just get something to eat?"

"Sure. Follow us," Hannibal said. He opened the door, but before he could get in the van, Murdock called him.

"Colonel. Colonel, can I ask you a question? Before we went back, did you think about it?"

Hannibal looked at him, serious. Murdock looked nervous, fighting with his own demons again.

"I remembered it, but I didn't think about it." _But I may think about our second trip there from now on. This damn leg hurts every time it's going to rain_ , he thought, looking at the grey sky with apprehension. Murdock seemed to understand, as he got in the van without a further word. And so did he.

No, he didn't think about the war before, and he still didn't want to think about it. Why would anyone think about stuff that could only cause them nightmares? But Murdock was different, and he couldn't help it.

AAA

From the back seat of a limo parked across the road, Stockwell watched the black and red, custom GMG Vandura leave the seaside, heading into town, followed by the flashy corvette.

There should be a reason why both their vehicles had a red stripe, but he couldn't think of one good enough. Maybe a slash of blood in the flesh on their enemies painted across both, their white angel and black demon versions? He'll have to ask them some day. But maybe he was over-thinking, as he liked to find reasons and symbolisms on everything, that sometimes could just be pure coincidence. Probably, they hadn't even noticed, and the red stripe in both vehicles was only due to fashion.

Red stripe or not, he had found the A-Team again, let them recover from their injuries, and now he would only need to set up a trap for them. And then, he'll own them. Soon.

"Take me back to the plane, please. We are done here."

The driver manoeuvred the large, black limo back on the road, heading in the opposite direction the A-Team had taken.

 _Soon. I'll see you soon_.

He knew how to find them, not like the incompetent MPs. No problem. Easy as pie.

AAAAAAA

 _ **A.N – Done! Finally! All those pesky loose ends tied up, linking the story to the last scene of the episode, and even throwing Stockwell in, ready for his appearance in season 5.**_

 _ **I LOVE IT WHEN A STORY COMES TOGETHER!**_

 ** _It took me nearly 100.000 words, while to the screenwriters of the show, it only took them two seconds of black screen between the helicopter scene in Vietnam where Murdock got shot, and the final scene with Tia at the sea side in LA. That is what I call an easy, uncomplicated, "abridged" version! LOL_**

 _ **I hope you enjoyed reading this story at least as much as I enjoyed writing it. Thanks for your wonderful reviews, PMs, favs and follows. And one more thing: if you are reading this story years after it was posted, you can still say something about it, please, don't be shy. Reviews are always welcome, no matter how old a story is.**_

 _ **Thanks! Now, like the head nurse, after all the hard work, I need a vacation ;)**_


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